To Break a Leg
by SirMarko
Summary: When an attempt to steal a coveted weapon goes terribly wrong, Peter and Rocket must learn to co-exist to ensure the safety of their crew. But what will happen when friendly strife gets in the way of their missions?
1. Chapter 1

**Okay everyone,**

**This is my first FanFiction ever, so I am really kind of nervous to hear what you think of it. Make sure you leave a comment to tell me how I did, and I should be posting the second chapter in the next day or so. This is sort of just the prolouge. Enjoy!**

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Peter hastily ran through the forest, his sixth sense alerting him that he was being closely followed by a raccoon. Rifle shots sailed through the air, their distinctive crack echoing around the forest as they would hit a stray tree or rock. Rocket caught up to Peter on all four of his furry legs.

"Whos fuckin' idea was it to try and steal a silly little gun," Rocket said as he panted, "An' why were we the only ones stupid enough come down here, seein' as these forest dwellers seemed to know our plan from the begginin.'" Peter just kept running, and grabbed Rocket's shoulder to direct him on a more westward path.

"Maybe we should use our remaining time to think of a plan to get out of this mess," he shouted, while dodging a bullet which had come close to charing his ear. Peter moved his legs as fast as possible, hardly noticing Rocket's sprint fumble slightly. He turned his head towards the raccoon and gestured towards a rather large rock. Rocket caught on to the idea, and they lunged behind the protruding shelter. They crouched next to each other, frantically searching for an easily throwable rock. Rocket found one, and upon picking it up, winced in excruciating pain.

"That one, Peter," he said as he leaned back against the rock. Peter looked over and picked it up, tossing it once in his hand and catching it with precision. He stood up, and upon seeing their attacker run past, clonked him on the head with the accuracy of a sniper.

"Well it's a good thing that's finally over," Peter commented as he turned back towards Rocket. They made eye contact, and Peter was wondering what Rocket had on his mind at this exact moment. He figured it was probably something to do with memories of torture or weapon engineering, but he refused to inquire.

He sat down next to his Raccoon friend, both of them catching their breath after their decently long sprint. "You okay pal?" Peter asked.

"I should be fine, you masochistic bastard," said Rocket, adjusting his legs.

"Who are you calling a masochist, you trigger happy idiot? If it wasn't you and your tendency to blow stuff up, we wouldn't be here in the first place," Peter grumbled back. They both knew that he was right, Rocket was the one who "accidently" blew up a supplies pile.

"How was I supposed to know there was a pile of explosive junk laying around," Rocket said, ears flat on his head. He had really fucked this one up. One mission after the other, it seemed, he was the reason that they weren't able to complete any contracts.

"Maybe at least a thank you would be sufficient," Peter added, knowing full well that Rocket would never admit to him saving his life.

"After you made me run that far! I think we ran past like, 5 fuckin' rocks before ya realized that we should take cover!" Peter gave him a look.

"It's not like you had any brilliant ideas." Rocket was about to reply when Peter cut him off. "We should move to the extraction point, I'm not sure the Milano could make it to us." Peter got up and took out a locater, and soon found the direction. Rocket stood up and gently put pressure on his leg. Concerned, Peter looked over and was about to ask if he was okay, but then Rocket tumbled to the ground like a rock.

"Stay the fuck back Quill!" Peter stepped back with his hands raised innocently. Rocket was determined to do this. He got up and was able to limp a few steps forward, before sitting back down.

"You got hit, didn't you," Peter asked in a mildly disappointed tone, regretting it instantly.

"And here we go again, I fucked this n' that up, Rocket this and Rocket that," he said while looking at Peter. "I just can't keep up with this 'Legendary Team'." Peter took out his communicator and attempted to relay with the ship. To his dismay, the battery was dead.

"Can I borrow your communicator?"

Rocket glared at him, "What, do ya need it to go and fuckin' whisper words to your lover?" Peter gave him a death stare back. Rocket's sarcastic mood was getting on his nerves. "Well you're outta luck, mine got shot." Rocket sighed. There he was, failing his missions again. Peter looked to the sky for answers, but realized that the Milano would have a hard time scanning a thick forest like this. They would probably be dead before they were found.

"Rocket, I'm going to have to carry-"

"No, I'm not just some stupid animal that can't care for itself." Rocket looked over at Peter in a sneer.

"Rocket, I know that want to try and do something right, and if I don't carry you back, we'll both die," Peter said while walking over to where Rocket was sitting.

He reached out his arms, but Rocket reached out with claws extended to defend himself.

"My gosh man just-"

"Fuck off, Quill! I don't want your help," he said as Peter jumped back from his extended claw. Peter swore that Rocket had a Vendetta against him. It wasn't either of their fault for the way that Rocket was acting. He had, after all, been an experiment. They both knew it, but neither would speak of it, partially since Peter wasn't into personal stuff, and partially since Rocket didn't like talking about it. Peter sat down next to Rocket, looking towards him. Rocket just looked down at his injured leg.

"If you're not gonna let me carry you, let me at least look at your leg." Peter heard him grumble something before moving his body over slightly for him to look at. Peter used the utmost care in his hands to slightly peel back Rocket's orange jumpsuit. The injury was not too bad, though there was a good chance of infection if he was not treated properly. Peter took off his shirt and ripped part of it off. He then wrapped it around Rocket's leg before tightly knotting it. Rocket looked at Peter while he was investigating the wound, and realized just how innocent Peter was in this situation. Rocket saw that he was being an absolute dick, and he understood it. He just didn't want to admit it to anyone. Few people besides Groot knew about his past life, and he didn't want to tell Peter about the gruesome things that had been done to him after his escape from the laboratory. It wasn't easy being him.

"There, you should live, for now." Peter stood up. "Its getting quite cold here as well, if we don't start a fire now we might not even survive the night." He looked over at Rocket. "Are you going to be okay while I get some firewood?" Rocket grumbled something to which Peter took as a yes. He wandered off into the forest, picking up medium sized pieces of dry firewood. He took in the air of this different world, and wondered what the Others were doing at this moment. A few thoughts ran through Peter's mind that they had abandoned him with Rocket. Or maybe they were scanning for them right now? Or maybe, they had found Rocket and left him out here alone. Peter frowned. He started his way back to the rock which he had left Rocket, and saw his body laying on the ground, unmoving. He dropped the wood in his hands and rushed over to Rocket, frantically shaking him.

"Rocket! Rocket wake u-"

"Peter! Calm the fuck down! Can't I just take a nap without ya tryin to shake me to death?" Peter let go of Rocket, who was now visibly shaken from being awoke so fast. Peter looked down and muttered sorry while Rocket curled up again while spewing profanity. Peter eventually was able to get a fire going by nightfall, and noticed Rocket awake on the other side of the fire.

"Rocket, I just want you to know-"

"I don't wan' ya sob story Quill," Rocket countered, "I know I've just been in the way of progress this whole mission." Peter once again knew this as true.

"But it doesn't mean we don't care about you Rocket."

"Your just sayin' that because you think of me as a pet!" A bit of emotion was beginning to take over his speech, as it was clearly evident he was fighting back tears. "Im just a furry fuckin' rodent that ya picked up along the way, when did I ever have a big part of this?" Rocket looked away from the fire, cold and disheartened. Peter got up and sat down next to him, feeling the warmth of his body radiating away. He thought about putting his arm around him, but recalled the fragile cybernetics implanted in his back.

"Rocket, you are an incredible person. Without you, we wouldn't have defeated Ronan, Xandar would be gone, and we'd all be dead. Hell, I owe you one for that. You've had my back all this time, and I just want to help you out for that." Rocket raised his head to look at Peter square in the eyes.

"Y-You think so?" A tear ran down Rocket's face, still looking mildly menacing as usual.

"Yes Rocket, I do. Companions until the end." Rocket buried his face in Peter's side, and Peter almost jumped back in fear.

"I'm so goddamn sorry. So fucking goddamn sorry Quill." Peter carefully navigated his arm around Rocket's back, and returned the embrace. Rocket was so built up, and so tense earlier that day, that his emotions exploded out of him. He felt stupid for acting like this, but he had no one besides Groot to ever fall on to. And Groot wasn't exactly in a state to be fell upon. Peter understood though, the fact that Rocket had a deep history that would take ages to explain. That didn't bother him though, Peter himself had an interesting past. Rocket continued to sob on Peter's now slightly destroyed shirt, while Peter was taking his chances to pet Rocket for the first time.

"It's okay Rocket, just let all out." Rocket slowly calmed down and leaned against Peter, who was still softly stroking his fur.

"Peter, did you ever know your parents?" Peter was taken aback by this question, expecting an awkward silence between the two of them for awhile.

"Only my mother, I never met my father." They both stared into the fire as they talked.

"What was she like?"

"She was nice. Took care of me, sang to me when I had nightmares, and I loved her for it."

"Where is she now," Rocket inquired, unbeknownst to him that she was dead. Peter wasn't sure if he should tell him the truth, considering the amount of the trust recently added to their relationship, or lie to him so he won't weep anymore.

Noting the silence, Rocket realized that Peter probably didn't want to talk about his personal life as much as he didn't want to talk about his.

"You dont have to talk about it if you don't-"

"She died the night I was abducted from Earth. She had a disease known as Cancer, which would slowly kill you over the course of a long while. I ran out of the hospital when she finally died, and that's when I was taken." They both sat as the night sky turned completely dark, and Peter occasionally got up to add wood to the fire. "Did you ever know your parents?"

Rocket kept his eyes focused on the fire and thought quietly for a few moments.

"No, they were being . . . killed . . . as I was bein' tortured. I don't like to think about much. Brings back bad memories."

"I agree entirely." The night continued to suck away any heat left from the day, persistently setting a chill on both of them.

"I think I'm gonna clock out for the night, Peter said, getting up. " I recommend you do the same, you could use some rest." With that, he put some more wood on the fire and layed down next to it. He easily drifted off while Rocket watched his breaths go in and out, and listened to the crackle of the fire.

At the dawn of the next morning, Peter couldn't exactly explain the warmth on his side. He moved his head over and realized that Rocket and slept next to him that night. His fur was slightly matted, and his increased breathing showed signs of a fever coming on. Just as he was determining if he should wake him, he felt Rocket move. He snapped his eyes closed and continued to breath as if he was sleeping. Rocket groggily stood up and stretched his extremities, noting the more serious pain in his leg. As he slowly lowered himself back to the ground, he wondered if Peter had noticed him next to him that night. He tentatively poked his side to see if he was awake, and sure enough, he didn't budge.

He leaned over him and whispered, "Peter, are you awake?" Peter didn't so much as flinch. "If you are awake, I just want you to know that I'm going to use your Walkman." Peter had a bad feeling in his gut. As much as he didn't want Rocket to know that he knew he had slept next to him, he didn't want his Walkman destroyed either. After awhile, he eventually drifted back to sleep. When he woke again, it was mildly brighter out, but not yet midday. He sat up and looked over at where Rocket was, noticing that he was wearing the headphones and had also dosed off. Peter smiled, before realizing that Rocket didn't look that well. His ears were considerably drooped, his fur sickly matted, and his breathing quite elevated. He walked over and lightly shook him.

"Morning, I see you were enjoying my Walkman." Rocket slid off the headphones and returned them to Peter's waiting hand. "So, how do you feel?" Rocket winced as he slid up on a rock.

"Not well, but well fuckin' better than I've been before." There was a slight pause, "This is the part where you ask to carry me again, isn't it," he smiled and raised his eyebrows.

"Under one condition Quill. I get to listen to the Walkman." Peter smiled at him and offered it back to him. Rocket muttered something along the lines of "Let's get this over with," as he put the headphones back on and started the tape. Peter carefully put his arms around Rocket's back before lifting him with a decent "uumph". He started his slow trek to the extraction point, occasionally stealing glances down at his sickly friend.

Fortunately for both of them, they reached the extraction point without any issues. They would just have to wait until the crew of his ship realized that they showed up where they were supposed to.

He carefully set Rocket down and replaced the makeshift bandage, now wondering if they were actually going to make it another night. Peter was all alone with Rocket by his side, concerned that whoever was chasing them might be out searching for them now. It wasn't a pleasant idea, but they might treat Rocket if he made a convincing enough story as to why they were there. Only moments later, a loud rumble made itself apparent, and the Milano lowered down into the clearing. He picked up Rocket once again, removing the Walkman from him, and headed towards the ship, where Gamora and Drax walked towards them.

"Drax, take Rocket to the Infirmary, and get his leg checked out," Peter said sternly. Drax took him and went back into the ship.

"What happened to him Peter?" Peter swallowed and swore to himself to not say a word about last night.

"The plan went off course, my fault, and Rocket ended up getting shot." Gamora gave him a look, though she seemed more concerned over the lack of the weapon that they originally came for.

"So you don't have the gun we came looking for?" Peter looked down and but his lip.

"No, we didn't get it. Though I would say that they had some advanced communication or radar system, seeing as they knew we were here. I'm not actually sure why they aren't-" Peter slowly stopped talking as a loud, menacing engine roar drowned out his voice.

"Get inside, NOW," Peter screamed as they both ran inside the ship. The attacking ship starting firing blasts on the landed Milano. Luckily, the shields were protecting them at the moment. Peter stumbled and collided into a shelf as the ship shook. Gamora followed him into the cockpit and Peter slid into the pilot seat.

"Look's like you're gonna have to be co-pilot!" Gamora sat down in the co-pilot seat and put on the headphones. The controller came up to her hands as Peter lifted the ship into the air. The attacking ship ceased fire as it hailed the Milano.

"This is captain Zerov of the Gerambon. We understand you are attempting to steal some of our cargo." Peter frowned as he knew all too well that this was a situation that would involve someone's death. He looked over at Gamora's stone face, looking for a sign that she knew what to do. If she did, Peter wasn't going to find it there.

"That's right captain, we've been offered a bounty for one of your . . . more intricate weapons."

"Is that why your rat blew up one of our explosive depots?" Gamora shot Peter a glance that she knew his stories weren't matching up. After all, he said that it was his fault. "Pay us 20,000 credits for the damages you made, or we will be forced to sell your ship for scrap metal." As much as he didn't want to get into a confrontation, he really didn't want to hand away 20,000 credits.

"Lock missiles 2 and 4 on their propulsion system. I will focus on keeping us from being blown apart." Gamora nodded and flipped a few switches.

"Ready." Peter silently looked into the cockpit of the other ship, wondering if they had families. Everyone lost something in war, didn't they? Well, it wasn't exactly war, but Peter considered the situation anyway. With a sigh, Peter announced "Fire at will!" Missiles shot out of the Milano's hull directly at the enemy cruiser. They exploded in a brilliant flash of light, crippling their ability to fly significantly. Enemy lasers bursts erupted into a spectacular dance of light as the Milano hovered away from their target. The Milano itself unleashed it's firepower upon the Gerambon, it's hull now more representing swiss cheese. After a good 30 seconds of maneuvering, it was clear who had won the battle. The Gerambon exploded into an array of flames, and banked severely to the left as it sailed into the forest. Peter sighed in relief as he assured his safety.

"Peter, what does this blinking light mean?" Peter ruffled his brow as he looked over to the co-pilot controls. Ever since Rocket had joined the ship, he usually expertly held the controls and was on any situation. The same could not be said from Gamora.

"Which light," he asked sullenly. Gamora pointed at a light. It was clearly flashing, just as she had said, but for some reason that light had never flashed before. Just as Peter opened his mouth, a barrage of anti aircraft fire rocked the ship.

"We're taking damage, evasive maneuvers!" Peter grabbed the controls and threw the ship to the side, the volley of lasers tracking their every move. "Use whatever we got left!" Gamora nodded and flipped some more switches. Spare parts on the ship crashed and tumbled about, leaving dents on the walls and destroying whatever objects Rocket had previously left on the floor. A few thoughts ran through Peter's mind about his furry friend flying throughout the medbay, and he hoped that Drax had at least remembered to secure him to the bed. Peter turned the ship towards the source of the laser barrages, and attempted to recall a memory of what it was.

"Gamora, aim at the enemy base! That's probably our only chance!" She grunted and held her hand over the missile launch button.

"Peter, are you sure we can't just get out of here?" He ran his hand through his stubble, and then responded, "No."

Gamora slammed her hand into the launch, and a few moments later four missiles shot out of their cannons. A distant shrieking sound was observed as they sped towards their target. The object which had been firing on them redirected its fire towards the encroaching missiles. It was able to hit one of the missiles, which exploded in a dazzling array of black and gray, but failed to hit its other marks. Three missiles sailed into the enemy camp and exploded simultaneously, sending charred debris hundreds of feet into the air. Peter and Gamora let out the breath which they did not know they had been holding, and steadied the craft.

"Should we go down and see if the weapon survived the explosion?" Peter asked, mindfully releasing his grip on the steering controls. Gamora disabled the ship's weapons and spun her chair to face him.

"Whatever you you think is best, Starlord." Peter smiled, and moved the ship forward to the smoking remains of the camp. Sure, they were going to find the gun in a pinch, but they had spent a fortune on missiles that almost outweighed the cost of finding the gun in the first place. Peter sat the craft down where the old landing pad had once occupied, minding the rather large craters. He walked down the corridor of the ship, deciding to not check on Rocket, and exited the craft. Gladly, they had only suffered from mild damages, not enough to need immediate repair, but enough to convince him to not get into anymore scuffles before he did. Then, he began his search for the case in the ruins of a village.

Peter ran his hand through his hair and let out a tired groan and he checked over the autopilot. It never hurt to make sure you weren't about to fly directly into a sun, especially after all they had been through. It would be another few hours until they reached Xandar to recover the credits from the gun. Peter twiddled his thumbs as he listened to his Walkman, knowing full well that he should be in the Medbay watching over Rocket's recovery. After all, it was a captain's responsibility to watch over his crew. He just couldn't quite come up with what to say to him when they saw each other, or what Rocket had already said to Drax and Gamora.

He closed his eyes and listened to each individual beat, tapping his foot and believing that everything was fine. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, shaking him from his mental state. He opened his eyes and looked around to see Drax looking at him. He hit pause on his Walkman, and slid his headphones down to his neck.

"Rocket says he would like to speak to you," said Drax in a monotone voice. Peter nodded to dismiss Drax from his way, not wanting to get into another fight about metaphorical phrases. It was hard enough that Gamora wouldn't show any emotions, and Groot's vocabulary was limited to three words. He chuckled a little as he realized that they were a band of misfits. None of them really could be defined as normal, but that's what he assumed made them special. Just as he was continuing to think about the ethics of being the leader of an emotionally unstable crew, he arrived at the electronic door to the medbay. He bit his lip as he realized he spent all his time **not **thinking about how he would confront his furry friend. Was he more than a friend to Peter? They were just friends. Close friends.

Peter realized that if he spent more time idling outside, someone was bound to notice him being nervous, or Rocket would catch onto him. With his confidence peaking, he opened the door and entered the room. His stomach lurched as he saw Rocket laying on a bed with an IV inserted into his paw. His eyes were closed, and his breathing steady. He looked better than when he brought him in, but still not in a state to be piloting a ship. Peter walked over to the dingy chair which stood next to the bed. The room itself was quite cramped, as a large crew was never intended to be aboard. A medkit hung on the wall next to the bed, to use in case you had to treat yourself of any injuries. Peter had used it a few times himself when he suffered from injuries.

"Are ya just going to stand there all day?" Rocket said, scaring Peter out of his observation. He walked over the chair and seated himself next to Rocket. "Drax said I'd be okay, just out for a few days to heal up." Peter smiled and leaned back on his chair.

"Well at least you weren't shot somewhere where we'd have to make you suffer back to Xandar." Rocket coughed and turned his head towards Peter.

"Today, everyone besides you has showed up today asking what happened to me." Peter looked away from Rocket and stared down at the floor in silence.

"What did you tell them?" Peter asked quietly.

"I told them I got shot. Then I told them to ask you about the rest." Peter sighed with relief once again and readjusted his coat to fit a bit better.

"I just want to know where you were the whole day. I've been sittin' here in pain and you've been runnin' around like a . . . like a raccoon." Peter opened his mouth to speak, before closing it and reiterating his thoughts.

"I was busy flying the ship and stuff." Peter mumbled slowly.

"So I assume you had something to do with the ship turning on its side today?" Peter attempted to respond to the comment when the raccoon broke out into a small chuckle. Peter stopped trying to talk and smiled at his friend. In his laughter, Rocket failed to notice him quickly moving something on to the back of the table sitting next to him.

"At least we were able to recover the cargo we were looking for." Rocket stopped his laughter and grew a more serious face.

"I assume they didn't just fuckin' hand it over and repaint the ship?" Peter cleared his throat.

"No, erm, we had to use . . . "

Rocket impatiently tapped his paw.

"Six missiles," Peter said as quickly as could.

"Six missiles!? Holy hell Quill! Those thing are almost 4,000 credits a piece!"

"Yeah, yeah, well its a small loss. Im sure your skills would've come in handy during that situation." Peter saw Rocket reach for a glass of water with a straw in it, and quickly grabbed it for him.

"You know, it's usually things like that which get on my nerves Quill." Peter did not relent in hold.

"Well sorry for being nice." Rocket shrugged it off after taking a sip of water.

"It's fine, though if ya decide to tell anyone, decide which side of your face ya prefer." Peter raised his eyebrows and told him that his point had come across clear. It was now strangely evident that the events of the past day had formed a new bond between them. Neither of them said a single word about the previous day, which was fine with Peter, but he couldn't help but shrug the feeling that there was something Rocket wasn't telling him. He wouldn't inquire further unless it was necessary for their survival, or Rocket was in that kind of mood. Instead, they talked about how they had evaded a land based AA system, about how they were clueless as to what the flashing tracking indicator meant, and how he had walked through the destroyed village to get the weapon.

After a while, Peter scratched Rocket's head and wished him a good night. They exchanged eye contact one final time before the electronic door closed, leaving Rocket alone in his dimly lit makeshift hospital. He rolled on to a more comfortable position on his side before catching a glance of something neatly hidden next to his bed. He hit himself in the nose to make sure he wasn't hallucinating before he sat up and picked up the object. Rocket smiled as he got back into bed and hit play on Peter's Walkman.

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**So tell me what you think! I understand that I might have made Rocket a bit too emotional, but I promise the next chapter will redeem itself with some Sci-Fi action! (And dinner)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello everyone, and welcome to chapter two of "To Break a Leg"! Theres not a whole lot of action goin on in this chapter, mainly just character development and setting up the plot for later chapters. I started writing the next chapter, and I can promise you there will be some intense action scenes. I would also like to thank all of you for your wonderful reviews! As long as the reviews are good and I am enjoying writing this, I will continue making more. So, without further bother, enjoy!**

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Peter had his hands carefully gripping the controls of the Milano, being mindful to not slam the ship into the surface. The Nova Corps would be quite angry with him if he crashed into their decorative landing pads. The landing gear eventually made their accustomed clunking sound, noting their arrival. Peter got out of his seat and quickly made his way over to a mirror, and made sure his hair looked okay. _It doesn't hurt to check._ He moved a few strands of hair over and smiled his best fake smile. He proceeded down the halls of the Milano, assuming that everyone else was too busy to notice they had landed. After jumping off the ship, he saw a few Nova Coro guards walking towards him. He puffed his chest out to compete with their stature, but there was no way he could match how awesome their uniforms appeared.

"Good morning captain Quill. What requests your presence here on Xandar?" Peter smiled back at them and shuffled as he felt the rather large weapon on his back.

"I have a delivery for the Nova Prime." One of the guards turned their heads sideways.

"We will have to confiscate the object on your back." Peter reached for the weapon, but paused when he noticed the guards beginning to draw their weapons. He held up a sign of innocence and turned around, while the guards took it from his back.

"That's actually what I came to give the Nova Prime." They nodded and began walking down the deck towards the building. It was a very nice city, he thought to himself. He saw the vivid reconstruction of the districts which had been destroyed. The Nova Corp were quite capable of building some of the most complex structures ever, and their ingenuity never ceased to amaze him. They walked into a doorway which seemed to be constructed out of solid gold, and saw the Nova Prime preparing herself.

"Welcome to Xandar, captain Quill. Do you have the agreed material?" The guard standing next to Peter held out his arms and showed her what Peter was carrying. She eyed over before picking it up. She put her hand over the trigger and released the safety on it. Just as Peter started to tell her that it was a bad idea, she fired a blast into the wall, making a clean hole through it.

"Hm, I didn't expect it to actually work, so I will double the agreed payment." She motioned over to someone at a desk who started typing furiously. "I also have one more contract for you to complete if you are interested." Peter looked down and sighed. It was almost a never ending stream of contracts to complete, but then again they pretty much worked as bounty hunters.

"How many credits?" Asked Peter cautiously.

"250,000 credits paid in full upon completion." Peter's heart lurched as he heard the amount.

"This must be a serious job." The Nova Prime nodded to him.

"There's a person who calls himself The Ranger, who lives in the Fotron Quadrant. Very dangerous, and has eliminated two of our previous dispatches. Rather than spending a fortune sending a larger dispatch, I want to see if you can do it." The two made eye contact for a moment.

"I'd want at least double that for the cost of weapons and repairs," said Peter demandingly. The Nova Prime let out a small chuckle at the idea.

"I'm sure one of your crew members will recognize some expensive parts laying around his base. More than enough to compensate for repairs." Peter wasn't sure if it was a bluff, or if she was telling the truth. He put his hand on his hip and leaned against the wall.

"Let me talk to my crew about it," he said cooly. The Nova Prime nodded and he walked back towards the ship.

When Peter got back on board, he noticed a small amount of activity in the Milano. Gamora and Drax were sitting at the table, eating their own customary breakfasts. Rocket was still recovering from his injury, but was bound to be up and about today. Without saying a word to anyone else, Peter made his way over to the Medbay. He was not nearly as nervous as he had been the last few times that he visited. Upon entering, he noticed Rocket was sound asleep with the Walkman playing music to him soundly. Peter seemingly hovered over to Rocket's bed and hit stop on the device. He then crouched down and shook his shoulder lightly. Rocket's eyes popped open and she shot up instantly. He put his claw out as if he was ready to attack someone, when his eyes focused on Peter's surprised face.

"Oh, for a second there you were gonna be missin part of ya face," Rocket said as he rubbed his eyes and blinked a few times. Peter changed his stunned expression into a smile and took the Walkman from Rocket.

"You feeling well enough to get out of here?" Peter asked hopefully. Rocket leaned back against his pillow and they stared at each other.

"Are we in a hurry to get somewhere?" He replied. Peter only smiled and said, "250,000 credits." Rocket whistled and continued to ask about how they planned to actually pull something like this off. After a few minutes Rocket declared that he was well enough to walk. Peter unhooked the IV and heart rate monitor. The moments between them were tense, as if one faulty slip could shatter the silence. He navigated his fingers through his fur to find and remove all of the points without ripping it out as well. A crutch had been constructed for him to walk around on the time being. Peter offered his hand out, to which Rocket grabbed with his paw and slid out of the lowered bed.

"Are you going to be able to dress yourself?" Rocket looked over at his outfit on the chair next to him.

"I got it Quill. Just gimme a few." Peter slowly let go of Rocket to make sure he wouldn't tumble over like a pile of coconuts. Peter then averted his gaze and wandered outside of the room and closed the door. He stopped for a moment and heard Rocket grunt as he struggled to put on his orange jumpsuit, but left him to his own business. Peter walked down the hall to his other comrades who were still sitting at the table. He sat down next to Gamora and looked at Drax, who cluelessly kept eating his breakfast.

"So guys, we got a new contract from Nova Corps." Gamora bit her lip and put down her spoon. She looked into the air as if addressing Drax, but then spoke to Peter.

"How much and for what," she asked slowly.

"250,000 credits to eliminate someone. " Drax spit out whatever he was eating and looked at Peter.

"Isn't eliminating politicians for money considered corruption," Gamora asked as she brushed off Drax's saliva.

"According to Nova Prime, it's an armed assassin called The Ranger," Peter countered. He was ready for whatever derailment she would bring.

"250,000 isn't enough to take down a target such as The Ranger." Peter was more concerned about how she knew the ranger than the price of which they killed him.

"You know who The Ranger is?" Peter inquired as he put his hands on the table. Gamora nodded slowly.

"It's a long story. We should be given at least a million for this," she said firmly.

"Nova Prime said that materials laying around his base should be more than enough to lure one of us," Peter stated matter of factly.

"Rocket always could turn scrap metal into a spare gun." Gamora was right, Rocket could probably scavenge the lost Nova Corp missions.

"Speaking of Rocket," she whispered, "What's been up with you two recently." Peters heart flipped in its place and started beating out of his chest.

"Nothing, we're just friends-"

"Friends who have never been friendly before they got stuck on a planet overnight," Gamora countered intelligently.

"We just shared a bit about each other," Peter said while looking around him.

"Is that why you spent 3 hours with him last night?" Peter knew that he had spent awhile with Rocket last night, but he didn't think 3 hours had passed.

"He was sick! I was entertaining him," Peter said, knowing it was partially true. Everyone's head turned as they heard a clop on the floor of a metal object. Peter tried hard to not to get up and see what it was, knowing perfectly well that it was Rocket. It happened again. And again. And again. And then Rocket appeared, wearing his jumpsuit and usually, but handling a crutch instead of a gun.

"A little help woulda been nice, assholes," Rocket shouted, his gaze wandering around the room until it landed on Peter.

"How did you-"

"Quill helped me," Rocket said, cutting off Gamora's question. She shot Peter her death glare, which he attempted to ignore.

"We oughta have somethin' to eat round here." Drax picked up a box of cereal and set it on the table.

"Join us, furry friend," Drax said enthusiastically. He sure wasn't one for metaphors, but he was quick enough to figure out what everyone wanted. No one was really sure if Drax actually cared about rumours, considering he never asked anyone. Rocket made his way over to the table and seated himself, leaning his crutch against the table. Drax handed him a bowl and some milk, which Rocket hungrily put together and started eating.

"So," Rocket said as he was munching, "Have you guys been filled in on the new contract?" Drax just nodded slowly while looking at the last of his food.

"Yes, though I think it's a crazy idea," Gamora added. Rocket just kept on eating his food in silence, with Gamora and Peter staring at him.

"Well then," started Peter, "Let's put it to a vote." Gamora sighed and Rocket put his spoon down. "Raise your hand if you think we should go after The Ranger." Peter, Drax, and Rocket raised their arms into the air, but Gamora refused. She had ties to The Ranger, he figured, but he just didn't know in what way. "Okay, that's three out of four, minus Groot. Let's kick it." Drax looked in confusion at Peter for a moment.

"What are we supposed to be kicking?" Just as Peter was about to announce the metaphor, Gamora responded.

"It's a metaphor Drax. It means let's do it." Drax rolled his eyes.

"Well then," Peter said as he got up, "I guess I'll go tell the Nova Prime that we're up for it. Peter got up and walked over towards the bridge, adjusting his shirt as he did. Back in the common area, Drax and Gamora both looked at Rocket. Upon looking up, he asked them why they were looking at him, but was not able to illicit a reply. Peter contacted the Nova Prime and had received coordinates to his last known position in the Fotron Quadrant. He breathed calmly as he programmed the flight into the autopilot system, which was an array of buttons and switches that was nowhere near as complicated as it appeared. The only reason he added dummy switches was to make himself feel way more cool while other people were in the cockpit with him. His chair was spun around to the right as he inputted the coordinates to Fotron. Fotron was a quadrant of space which was known to be desolate and sparse. Not many people went out that way on their ventures, seeing as it was mostly destroyed wreckage of Kree and Nova Corp ships. Great for scavengers perhaps, but scavengers were also known to attack each other for wreckage. Making their way through would be diffucult, but possible as long as they didn't hang around for too long. Just as he spun around in his chair, Rocket was their waiting for him.

"How long were you there . . .?" Peter's face had a total look of stunned fascination.

"Just long enough to see you humming as you started flipping dummy switches."

"Hey! These aren't dummy switches," Peter started, but Rocket was having none of this.

"I've flown this ship enough times to realize not everythin' here has a purpose Quill."

"Well I've flown her for nearly 15 years, and I would know what everything does!" Peter blatantly lied, he had no idea what half the console buttons would actually do when you pressed them. Generally it was best not to press something you don't know about.

"That's not what Gamora said, Star-Prince." Peter gaped at his comment. It was not everyday Rocket called him Star-Prince.

"Since when do you and Gamora talk," Peter screamed incompetently. Rocket just rolled his eyes.

"Theres only 5 fuckin people on this ship! 'An ain't it a small world." Peter sighed and decided to just table the topic for now.

"I already set the course to Fotron. We should arrive tomorrow morning at my best estimate." Peter knew that time in space was more or less a relative object, but usually everyone lived on a time code. Not to say that the universe wasn't always bustling with trillions of people, but it was comforting to know that there was a night to look forward to. Rocket sat down in the co-pilot chair and did his evaluation of the Milano.

"We are fully stocked on missiles, food, water, fuel, and egotists." Peter shot him a look of disapproval, but didn't reply. Usually it was best just to ignore Rocket's nonsensical bantering. Rocket chuckled to hide the obvious pain he was feeling. Being shot in the leg wasn't fun and games, especially if you were a cybernetically modified raccoon. Peter got out of his chair and left Rocket to his own devices. Soon enough, he realized, Rocket would start building something out of the control panel. Only then would they be totally screwed. He didn't want to bother Groot, who was still growing back, or Drax, for obvious reasons. Gamora was an open possibility, though provoking her might cause another bout of questionnaire. Bored, Peter made his way to his bedroom to take a nap. It wasn't until he layed down and put his Walkman on that he realized how tired he actually was.

When Peter awoke a few hours later, his alarm declared that it was only 7:00 PM. He sighed and took off his Walkman, getting out of bed as he did. He walked over to the bathroom down the hall and splashed some water on his face. Peter looked at himself in the mirror and debated whether or not he looked well. Not that it mattered or that he could change anything, but it was just nice to know. Back in his bedroom, Peter looked for his shirt. When he went to lay down, his shirt was just at the foot of the bed like always. But it was gone. He checked under the bed, in his closet, under the sheets, and on himself, but it was no where to be seen. Rocket's quarters were adjacent his, and Peter wondered if he had used it in the construction of something. He walked towards Rocket's room, but stopped as he saw the door open and talking from inside. Peter put his ear against the wall.

"An' no need to get all sentimental on me!" There was not much else happening in the room as far as he could hear.

"I am Groot."

"That's what I figured, an I jus' don't want anyone else to know." Peter wasn't sure what they were talking about, and debated leaving them alone.

"I am Groot," he heard with a disappointed tone.

"I don't need anyone else knowin', it makes me look bad." Peter heard a chair move and and some racket as something fell on the floor.

"I am Groot," Groot said accusingly. Through the wall, he heard a faint sigh as Rocket moved to his bed.

"If you tell anyone, you will be wishin' you weren't a tree!"

"I am Groot," Groot announced firmly.

"I broke down," Rocket responded solemnly.

"I am Groot?" Groot's voice was still tinny as he was growing, but his answers were indistinguishable to the raccoon.

"No, not that much. Its just, I don't know. One second, I want fuckin' rip his stupid ears out, an' the next I want to snuggle up next to him." Rockets voice dropped down to a whisper, almost if he knew Peter was listening. "I stole his shirt while he was under, just somethin' bout it." Peter didn't know where this conversation was headed, but he really didn't want to get caught eavesdropping on his friend. Tiptoeing back to his room, Groot let out a few more "I am Groot"s and Rocket usually responded in a high pitched, foul-mouthed reply. Peter simply walked over to his dresser and started slamming his drawers open and closed. Knowing all well where the shirt actually was he screamed, "Where is my Shirt!" The talking in Rocket's room came to a pause. Peter added a little bit more tension by waiting a few seconds and ripping the blankets off his bed. Barefooted and shirtless, he walked past Rocket's room and felt the stare of both Rocket and Groot. He then stopped, and took a few steps back on the cold metal floor.

"Have any of you seen my shirt?" Peter asked methodically.

"Why the fuck would I have come and stolen' your pretty little shirt, Quill," Rocket said with a guilty look. Peter just rolled his eyes and continued down the hallway. Gamora was sitting at the table playing a game of cards by herself. The reasoning behind the situation she was in was questionable on its own, but Peter just ignored it. Looking at her face, he pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Have you seen my shirt?" Gamora continued to play her game, throwing cards down an unrecognizable fashion.

"No," she started, "Though I did see Rocket messing with your door mechanism," she whispered. Peter mouthed back to her that he knew Rocket took his shirt. Gamora went back to playing her complicated game. Peter's interest began to peak as Gamora slammed the table with her fist.

"What exactly are you playing there?" Gamora took all of the cards into her hand and made them into a neat pile.

"It's an old game that I used to play. Not really around anymore." Peter put his hands into a fist and leaned forward. "It takes a long time to learn, and it's even harder to win." Peter's expression turned into a frown.

"Against yourself?" Gamora nodded and put the deck of cards into her pocket, and focused her gaze upon Peter's bare chest.

"Not all games are won between people. Sometimes you have to make decisions which affect others." The air between them was tense. There was a deeper meaning to what she was saying, Peter at least knew that much, but he was too distracted to care. His mind was occupied with the nip of hunger from his stomach. He looked around the area that could be defined as a kitchen and wondered what food had been left out.

"What should we have to eat?" Peter asked to no one specifically. He got up and went over to the refrigerator, which appeared to be filled with non-perishable crackers. He tapped his fingers on the counter and closed the door slowly.

"Do you want to have some sort of formal dinner?" Gamora said from the table. She leaned on the chair dangerously, lifting her feet off the ground.

"Yeah, something like that," he replied absentmindedly.

"Then you might also want to arm yourself with a shirt, Star-Lord." He turned towards her and raised his hands into the air.

"Why does the best known criminal in the galaxy also have to be the best dressed?" Gamora smiled. Peter eventually decided on making an improv Spaghetti meal. Instead of using traditional Earth sauce, he decided to use a butter and cheese mixture. Everyone had seemed to enjoy it, that or they had lied to him, which probably wasn't out of question. All night, there had been an awkward silence between the five of them. Rocket and Groot stayed mostly quiet, with Groot occasionally saying something he would chuckle at. Drax just sat there as normal and ate his food in silence, trying to stay away from any drama that arose. Gamora would complement the food every so often, breaking some of the silence. Peter just was himself, and responded only if he was asked a question directly. He wondered why Rocket would have stolen his shirt. To spite him? To anger him? Whatever the reason was, he wouldn't admit it.

Peter recollected this as he lie in his bed, with his blankets over him. Most of the time, his team members were beyond his thinking capacity. After they got old and retired, he decided he would write a book about all of the struggles he had with his crew. His eyes slid shut and he began to drift off. Little did he realize that Rocket was thinking the same thing across the hall from him.

Alarms blared and lights flashed threateningly in a spectacular fashion. Peter's eyes shot open as he realized this was normal procedure for an emergency. He threw the covers off his bed and made a beeline for the door, racing his way down to the bridge. A few thoughts about checking his hair ran through his head, but whatever had spooked the ship was more important. In his drowsy ambition, his leg missed a spare part which had been left on the floor. The air carved out of the way as Peter tumbled into the side of the Pilot's chair.

The window in the cockpit explained the situation rather well. A vast amount of debris floated around, often times scraping against the ship. The Milano could hold, at least for now, but resting in a debris field was not on the top of his to do list. He carefully enabled the engines, which ignited with a lull. _Welcome to Fotron._ As carefully as he could make it, the Milano moved through the scraps with much ease. Much of the parts were large sections of hull which he figured had come off of large warships. Many of the pieces had large cuts sliced into them, the work of scavengers. Hopefully The Milano would not accidentally be recognized as such. Just in case, Peter adjusted some of the settings to make the ship automatically defend itself if necessary. He didn't like having the ship decide on blowing people up, but exceptions had to be made.

Peter sighed as they drifted away from the destroyed part, and contemplation of heading back to his room became a major issue. Eventually, when he decided that they were safe enough, he got up. This time, no one would be tripping parts laying around. A mental note was formed in his mind; tomorrow he would ask Rocket to pick some of it up. Peter stopped outside of his room for a moment, listening to the ship. Once again, audible sounds could be heard from Rocket's room. Though they weren't really words. He put his ear up against the wall to hear better.

"Please . . . Please don't . . ," he heard from the wall. Peter wasn't sure what was going on in there, but he really wasn't sure if he wanted to check either.

"You don't have to do this!" Peter's courage rose in his chest. He didn't want to walk in on-

"PLEASE STOP! PLEEEAASE!" Rocket shouted from inside. Peter's eyes nearly burst out of his head. He hit the door and light control and walked in. Rocket was on his bed, and then suddenly jerked awake, sat up, and screamed at the top of his lungs. The look on his face was, well, priceless, but not in a way that made it funny.

"AAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHH!" Peter moved in slow motion as he saw Rocket grab for the nearest object laying around. Peter was only formulating the thought that this was a mistake and would end badly when a metal object hit him on the forehead. He fell backwards on the ground and became unconscious. The world around him became a darkened state of thoughts. He saw himself flying around as superhero, he saw his mother, and he also saw Earth. Darkness flooded his entire brain, oozing everywhere like an evil slime that would be rather diffucult to attempt and remove. There was a faint voice calling his name from afar, though it was unrecognizable and floated through a very soft looking cloud. The voice was slowly becoming louder, pulling him out of the comfort of his own mind.

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Thank you all for reading! Your reviews and suggestions slowly change the course of my story, but I still plan on a majority of it revolving around The Ranger. (And by the way, Peter did not die at the end of this chapter.)


	3. Chapter 3

**Okay guys, I know I've pretty much been adding a new chapter every day, but I'm not sure how long I can keep up with 5,000 word daily additions. It may be a few days until I have another one prepeared, since my classes are starting. I'd also like to thank the reviewers for their awesomeness, and yes indeed, this is the first FanFiction I have ever written. I have read a large part of the GOTG collection on this forum, and you will often see a lot of influence from other stories.**

**At least a few of you were mildly concerned about where the story is leading, at least in terms of Rocket/Peter. I plan on keeping this story a strong "T" rating, due to descriptive violence, strong language, and mild themes. I also understand that the audience of my story wants either it to be freindship fluff, or a romance. I have absolutely no idea or promises of how this will end. I didn't write this with a plan, and it seems to be going strong without one. All I can say is if you want "M" rated Peter x Rocket, there's plenty of examples already on FanFiction. This is a "T" story. Without further bantering, let's just see what happens to Peter. Enjoy!**

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Emotions slowly regained their ability to be felt, and he was hit with a wave of regret and sorrow. Vision became less scrambled, the words "Peter" and "Is he going to be okay?" echoing around his brain. The rest of his body made itself known in the form of pins and needles. Vision was one of the last things that was reformulated, well besides his memory, which had taken a turn for the worse for the past few moments. Peeking an eyelid open, light flooded in a vast amount of colours. He opened both of his eyes and was able to focus on a very strangely green person. He moaned something between a scared reply and a painful wail, which caught both Gamora and Rocket's attention.

"I think he's awake." Gamora rolled her eyes at him.

"You think?" Peter opened his eyes fully and was treated by a truly bizarre sight. A green woman was sitting and looking at him. He turned his head and noticed a half naked raccoon wearing khaki trousers watching him as well.

"Who . . . Who the hell are you?" The raccoon didn't take to this very well.

"This can't be good," he started, watching Peter lean up.

Slowly thoughts came back to him. He recalled the green woman was to be trusted, and the raccoon was dangerous, but also very . . . The word he was searching for didn't come to mind. He scrunched his eyes together and put a hand up to the pain on his forehead.

"Peter, do ya remember who I am?" The raccoon asked with much concern.

"Raccoon. Raccoon man. Dangerous, but . . ." Peter stopped, and took his hand off his forehead. The green lady put an icepack up to his head. Something about swelling and a concussion, she said. The raccoon began talking again, but he closed his eyes and laid back down on the bed. He drifted off into a rather dull sleep, which was uninterrupted for quite some time. He eventually opened his eyes again to see the raccoon fully dressed with something in its hands. A headache pounded in his head, and he was very aware of a large lump on his head. Names and memories began to flood back into sight. Rocket stopped messing with what he had in his hands and perked his ears up.

"Peter, are ya awake?" Slowly but carefully, Peter sat up and faced him.

"I have a headache," Peter announced blatantly. Rocket started for his pocket, but then paused as he remembered something.

"I'm not supposed to give ya anything until you can recall my name." Peter thought for a moment before securing one word.

"Rocket." Rocket sighed in relief and smiled. He pulled some white pills out of his pocket and put them in Peter's hand.

"My fuckin' god you had me scared Quill. I thought ya were never gonna wake up."

Peter smiled as he swallowed what Rocket had given him.

"Yeah I'm a bit sorry over this whole concussion ordeal." Peter raised his eyebrows quite high.

"A bit sorry?"

"Well you deserved it, sneaking into my room and all."

"I deserved to be concussed for trying to help?"

"The way I see it, you were trying to steal my stuff."

"Sociopath!" Rockets ears flattened as he spoke. It was his fault yet again, though this time it wasn't really something he could've prevented.

"Ironically enough, the item I threw at your head was something I was planning on giving ya," Rocket said, ignoring the previous conversation.

"Oh really, and what's that?" Rocket handed him what he had set on the table.

"It's a pistol. I thought it would be nice to have, considerin our weapons are quite bulky." Peter's maw dropped.

"You threw a gun at my face!?" Peter yelled in horror.

"Well, at least it wasn't a sticky bomb," Rocket mumbled sarcastically. Peter rolled his eyes and the air became stiff. They were both looking around the room, avoiding each others gaze. Peter looked at Rocket directly and he looked back for a moment.

"I thought someone was attacking you." Rocket's ears perked up.

"What?"

"That's why I came into your room last night. You were screaming." Rocket stopped glancing around the room and looked directly into Peter's eyes. He could see him slowly becoming more defensive as his tail began to extend.

"What would you know, you were just concussed a few hours ago!" Peter opened his mouth to offend an argument he knew he could never win.

"I think I should remember that clearly." Rocket got up from his seat and moved closer, almost as if he was going to attack him. A few thoughts ran through his mind that Rocket had totally lost it at this point, but Peter knew better. The room in the air grew stuffy and a distinctive growling sound was on the verge of being born.

"You didn't hear anything! Do you understand that?" Rocket was now standing barely inches from his face. He could smell his breath as he pronounced every word with an emphasis he didn't know he had. Part of him wanted to surrender to his friend. Their fighting was completely futile. But another part of him was telling him to fight back. The only way Rocket would get over it was to surrender the information to him. There was something he was hiding, something in his dreams which he really didn't want to remember or tell anyone about. Maybe it was his family? Maybe it was his time in the lab?

"Rocket, I don't know what-" Rocket reached out with his paw and sliced his face with claws extended.

"YOU DID NOT HEAR ANYTHING!" Rocket prepared to slice again, not even waiting to hear his reply. Luckily for Peter, he had ample time to move his arm in front of the blow. Blood began to slowly make it's way down his face and his arms, permanent reminders that personal space was not to be invaded.

"Holy Shit," Peter screamed as he defended his face from another blow from his Raccoon friend. He could not believe the proposition he was in just now. Only moments ago, they were reconciling his concussion, and now his face was literally being ripped to shreds by the same person. Peter used his weight to his advantage, grabbing Rocket's shoulders and rolling off the bed and on to the floor. Surprised that Peter was now on the offensive, he collapsed to the floor under the human's substantial weight. They both struggled and screamed at each other while Peter attempted to restrain Rocket from getting up. He had successfully pinned one of his paws while Rocket was reached out to slice him with the other.

"What the hell is going on in here," Gamora asked as she ran in the two struggling for control. Blood dripped down from Peter's face and on to Rocket as Gamora leaped to the rescue. Pinning both his paws, Gamora was able to successfully restrain the raccoon. Rocket looked directly into Peter's eyes for a few moments longer before finally submitting to defeat. Peter rolled off of him, and felt the found he had suffered to his body. His forearm was scratched and bleeding, along with his face. Gamora jerked Rocket up off the ground, holding his paws due to the lack of any real handcuffs aboard.

"Go fuck yourself, Quill." Taking this as a sign that Rocket was attacking, and the fact that Peter was attacked by him while he was already hospitalized, she kneed his back and slammed him into the wall. He grunted in pain and cooperated as he was led out of the room.

Peter got up and leaned against the wall, closing his eyes as he did so. His headache was still seriously bothering him, though he had taken the pills Rocket had given him. A few thoughts about what the pills actually were ran through his head, before sleep began to call his name. His vision became increasingly fuzzy again, but the pain subsided. Eventually, he sided with the fact that they probably weren't going to kill him, and passed out on the floor of the medbay.

When Peter woke up he remembered immediately that they were in the Fotron Quadrant, and that they needed to move or they would be attacked by salvagers. The urge to complete the mission overrode almost every memory of what had happened in his head, and only took slight notice of the Gaws on his arms and face. He leaned up looked around, re-orienting his mind. He recalled being in the medbay, and slowly but surely, it all came back to him. His instinct to save the ship and crew slowly backed down as he realized that Gamora or Drax probably had the situation under control. _Probably._

"Hello," Peter asked tentatively. There was no response, not that he was expecting one in the first place. The air smelled clean, as of disinfectant, and he laid back took in the darkness of the room, the darkness of the entire ship. Everyone was probably asleep, and no one would likely notice if he got up either. Testing his fists, he grabbed the sheets of the bed and pulled them down his legs. He spun to his left and set his bare feet down on the cold metal floor, the thrill of sneaking around increasing his heartrate ever so slowly. Peter got up and looked around, still not seeing any activity inside the ship. He hobbled over towards the doorway and peeked out over the edge. The lights were off, and there were no sounds throughout the ship.

Peter's courage took him far, as he walked down the hall and into the cockpit. All systems were working as usual, and it had appeared they were floating near the edge of the sector, floating in whatever direction space tugged them. Every hour or so, the engines were set to move them along the boundary, probably just to keep any scavengers from thinking their craft was abandoned. He turned around, and exited the cockpit without touching any of the buttons. He hobbled down the corridor, careful to not accidently trip or disturb any of the random metal and electronic parts strewn everywhere. It almost seemed abandoned in here with all of the lights off. Peter generally kept them on at all times.

The common area was again, empty. The flickering lights of all the machines were flashing erratically and the table lay empty and undisturbed. He continued on to the sleeping areas, moving slowly and listening carefully for signs of his crew. He leaned against Gamora's door, waiting for any sign that she was there. Unfortunately, either due to Peter's recovering hearing or Gamora's quiet sleeping, he could not hear anything from beyond her door. He moved on next to Drax's, where he heard a loud snoring sound from just outside the door. Peter smiled as he knew he at least had one loaf aboard the ship. He walked to his room, and stopped before he reached his door. He turned his head to the left and he was lured to Rocket's door. The control panel on the outside had been lock encrypted shut. He knew in the back of his mind that the lock would not prevent Rocket from escaping through the door. He hesitated before putting his ear to the door, remembering what good it did him last time he decided to listen in on Rocket at night.

He finally conceded to the act, and pressed his ear hard against the door. There was a silence associated with Rocket that usually meant he was either down, or not actually there. Peter could've quite easily recalled the loud breathing sounds that Rocket makes in his sleep, but there was none to be heard. Just as he thought that Rocket had actually escaped from the room, he heard a small sound. Not enough to indicate any significant advancements in his predicament, but enough to know that there was at least something happening in the room. He waited a while longer.

"Stupid stupid stupid," Peter heard very faintly through the door. So he was in the room. And he was most definitely awake. As much as Peter would have liked to complement the skills Gamora had to keep him locked in the room, Peter knew that Rocket would get out if he wanted out. But he didn't want to get out. Usually that meant only two things. Either Rocket was restrained further within the room, or he felt guilty about why he was locked in there. In this case, he assumed that it was the latter. It was hard to believe that the person who had attacked him earlier, he wasn't really sure when, had already started feeling guilty about clawing him. This was Rocket after all, and Rocket wasn't really known for showing much emotion. Peter also chuckled inside as he realized that he wasn't really known for sneaking around his ship and listening to personal conversations, either.

So Peter made his way back to the Medbay, where he laid back down to rest and put his blankets back over him. Someone was bound to wake him and ask him what to do next when they arose. He closed his eyes, and soon drifted off into a wonderful reality of flying unicorns and exploding rainbows. Not even moments later, he thought, was he awoken by Gamora.

"I swear, you and Rocket get into more quarrels than we have missions." Peter smiled at the idea and sat up in his bed.

"It's not my fault, honestly." Gamora sighed and handed him a glass of water, which he accepted graciously.

"I've heard Rocket's story on the situation, I'd figured I should keep him locked up until I hear yours." Peter wondered what story Rocket had told her. He also wondered if their stories would match up, and what would happen if they didn't.

"Well, I woke up to go navigate the ship through the debris feild, since we had entered Fotron," Peter started slowly. "I set up the defenses so I can sleep until morning, and then I heard suspicious sounds from Rocket's quarters." Gamora gave him a look of disapproval. "Not those kind of sounds!" Peter sighed and took another sip of the cold water. "I opened his door, and the next thing I know he throws something straight at my head." Gamora nodded and took the water back from him. The room was undoubtedly cold, and Peter was starting to regret not getting himself a pair of socks in the night.

"Well, your story's match up to this point. I'm more interested about the part where you have an all out brawl." Peter nodded slowly and recalled his memory to the best of his wits.

"Well, I wake up, and theres rocket, sitting on the chair there. He offers me some white pills if I can recall his name. I am able to do it, and I take the pills he gives me, thinking that you had given them to him to give to me when I awoke." Gamora swallowed and sat down in the chair next to him.

"The pills were some serious pain medication I found laying around. Figured if you couldn't remember the name of a talking raccoon we might need to rush you back to Xandar for medical assistance." Peter nodded in agreement. He was glad that Rocket didn't have an even stronger throw. He still wasn't quite sure how he had thrown it that hard in the first place.

"Me and Rocket got into a discussion, and then I tell him why I went into his room. He told me . . . well . . . He told me I didn't hear anything." Peter squinted his eyes upon calling the memory. It really wasn't that long ago, at least in terms of Peter being awake. He had become quite disoriented from all of the passing out and concussing. It could have been 4 hours ago that they got to Fotron, or 4 days ago.

"What did you actually hear?" Peter swallowed and wondered whether he was breaking an unknown truce to their friendship by telling her.

"He was calling for help. Said something like 'please don't do it!'" Gamora nodded slowly.

"I didn't get that far with Rocket. He just told me that you brought up something deeply personal and you wouldn't shut up about it." Gamora winced like she was remembering some other thought, but continued her silence.

"Before I could respond, he attacked me." She looked at Peter's face with concerned expression. He had never actually taken the time to look at what damage had been done, but that was because he had better things to care about.

"I will say this, Rocket has quite a powerful scratch," Gamora stated with dreadfully slow punctuality.

"I'm sure it can't be that bad," Peter responded with a hopeful hint in his tone. She let out something short of a snort and chuckled slightly. He wasn't taking the news too well.

"In other important news, how long are we keeping Rocket locked up under house arrest?"

"That's up to you captain, you could try him in court and see how far that takes you, or just let it go as a . . . friendly strife." Peter sighed as he knew what he would eventually have to do. "He hasn't eaten anything since you went dark, I'm actually starting to get slightly worried myself." Peter nodded.

"How long have I been out," Peter asked with the utmost curiosity. Gamora hesitated for a moment while doing some calculations in her head.

"You were concussed about 3 days ago, then Rocket attacked you the second time you woke up. That was about 2 days ago." Sleeping for days only felt like moments for Peter. Perhaps being concussed changes the perception of time, especially with the swelling and all.

"Thanks for everything." Gamora got up out of her chair and picked up Peter's regular clothes and set them on the bed.

"You're welcome" With that, she exited the room and shut the door. Peter quickly got to his feet and got changed. He investigated some of the bandages on his arm, slightly peeling back the one on his arm to expose an area of raw, carved flesh. He quickly regretted looking and retaped the bandage. When Peter opened the door, he smiled as all of the lights were on as normal. It felt great for him to be back on his feet after 3 days of being out cold. But man, he sure was starving.

The sensation that he needed food reminded him that Rocket had been on a food strike for the last two days. He wasn't quite sure how Rocket would respond to seeing him again, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to disturb him. Peter walked down the main corridor until he came to the armory, which he quickly entered the password into and then entered. He picked out a stun gun, just in case Rocket decided to pull anything funny. He also contemplated grabbing a pair of handcuffs, but decided that it would make a bad impression. He wandered back down the corridor until he saw Drax sitting at the table, cleaning one of his precious knives.

"Hey Drax, can you prepare me a few sandwiches?" Drax looked up and over at Peter, and then put his knife down.

"Yes, of course. Are you feeling alright," Drax asked with great modesty.

"I'm just a bit hungry." Drax nodded and walked towards the refrigerator. He honestly wasn't sure where Drax would find any materials needed for a sandwich, but he figured that somehow, he had sandwich material hidden away somewhere. Peter continued down the corridor until he stopped in front of Rocket's quarters. It was mostly silent, though there were no discernible sounds. He reached for the control panel and entered the unlock password.

The door opened with a decent whooshing sound, shedding light into the room. The room felt quite warm and humid inside. There was a smell of something quite strong and odorous, but he couldn't quite place it. Rocket sat on his bed, his fur looking quite bad. He turned to face Peter, but could not bare to look at him for very long before letting go of his reality.

"Rocket, c'mon. Let's get something to eat." Rocket sullenly disobeyed the order, and sat down looking quite alone. There was an obvious matted area around the face which had signified the fact he had been sobbing quite well at some point in the past few days. "C'mon Rocket, just please do this for me."

"What do you care," Rocket responded with a low, hushed tone. Peter knew better than to approach him, so he just stood back from a distance and crouched.

"I know that you need to eat. And if you don't comply I'll be forced to use other methods of keeping you alive." Rocket sighed and got up. At some point, he had changed from an orange jumpsuit to a lighter gray one. He walked past Peter without looking up at him, and Peter followed him out the door. He noticed him sporting an interesting limp, seemingly coming from his back. They walked down the hallway in silence, until they reached the improv kitchen area. Drax looked mildly stunned to see Rocket finally out of his room, and nearly dropped the sandwiches to say hello. His manners, though, told him to go give the sandwiches to him and Peter. They both had seated themselves across from each other at the table. Drax carefully and lightly set down the plate in front of them, and opened his mouth as if to say something. He briskly closed it and walked away.

Peter picked up a sandwich and took a bite of it, the obvious flavours of ham and cheese gently soaking through to his taste buds. Rocket could not face Peter, but heartily reached out for a sandwich and began to eat as well.

"What did I do to cause this gaiety, Rocket?" Rocket stopped chewing for a moment, and then continued on hungrily.

"I don't even know what the fuck that means," he mumbled under his breath.

"Well at least it elicited a reply from you!" Peter stated excitedly. Rocket grumbled something abhorrently. After finishing his first sandwich, he realized there were less sandwiches on the plate than he first thought. There only seemed to be five from the start. Rocket finished his and waited for Peter to grab his second. Peter did, and Rocket took another shortly after.

"I assume we should discuss the elephant in the room, then?" Rocket continued eating and looked down at the table. "Why did you attack me?" Rocket stopped chewing for a moment, before continuing on as if the question had never been asked. Peter impatiently tapped his finger on the table, awaiting the raccoons response. "Rocket, why did you attack me," he asked again, this time with more emphasis. Rocket heavily sighed and threw his sandwich at the table.

"Sometimes you push your limits, Quill." Peter felt he understood Rocket's quarrel deep down within him. Sometimes, when people ask too many questions, he would become irritated. Especially when they were personal.

"Sometimes you do a poor job of explaining things," Peter replied hastily. Rocket licked his paw for a moment and began to fix some of his ruffled hair before realizing how animalistic it seemed. He bashfully put his paw back in his lap.

"Well, maybe if you didn't try to pry into everyone's life like some sort of leech!" Peter's expression turned to one of more playful banter.

"You're the one sending me mixed messages," Peter stated, being as honest as he could. Rocket's expression turned sour for a moment, but then retreated back to a normal glare. "I mean, not like that kind of mixed messages. One minute you're you know," Peter made scrambled hand gestures in place of words, "And the next thing I know you're trying to scratch my face off."

Gamora wandered in from the corridor with a rather surprised expression. She carefully walked over and sat down next to both of them.

"Are any of you planning on eating that last sandwich." At this point, Peter and Rocket both made eye contact.

"No, as a matter of fact we were just leaving," Rocket replied with intensity. He made some sort of head gesture between a nod and a "Let's go" at Peter. He just rolled his eyes and got up to follow the raccoon. He recalled having the taser still hooked to his back pocket, but would likely not arrive to using it. Down the hall, they took a turn before Peter's door. The humid air embraced him as he walked through the door, the sad fact of being cooped up for days at a time. The room itself was in considerable shambles, and Rocket did not seem to notice walked through destroyed circuit boards and metal tubes. He frowned as he wondered where most of these parts had originally come from. Peter closed the door behind him, trapping them both in the room with each other. Rocket seated himself on his bed, while Peter cleared an important looking device off a chair and took a seat.

"Look Quill, I know that things've been rough the past few days between us. I mean, sure, it's both of our faults." Peter took no time to roll his eyes and begin tapping his fingers on the arm of the chair. "And well, you know I threw that pistol at your head. And I also," Rocket looked at Peter's face, "Managed to fuck your face up quite well." He had not actually seen his own face since he had woken up, the bandages securing the healing wound that would inevitably leave a scar. "But," he continued slowly, "I think that we can both put this behind us. . ."

"I think that's the second time I've actually heard you apologize over something." Peter wasn't sure if Rocket was really sorry, or he was trying to buy himself back into everyone's good side. He had an unreasonably large feeling that Rocket's fate depended on his response to their current situation.

"I wasn't apologizing! I was just . . . reminiscing with style." Peter almost couldn't contain himself, and let out a small chuckle. He got up from the chair, Rocket's eyes following him inquisitively.

"Rocket, I don't believe in holding grudges over stupid things, and I really don't want to have my co-pilot out of action for the duration of this mission. I will let you off the hook for your actions under 3 conditions." Rocket's ears perked up at this offer. Apparently he had not been expecting to get off so easy. "One, you don't ever pull something like that again. Attacking an already hospitalized person that you put there in the first place is sickening." Rocket nodded in agreement. "Two, you tell me what you were dreaming of that made you concuss me. Either that or we may need to send you to go see mental help." Rocket didn't appeal to this one as much as the last, simply because it was harder for him. "Three, you actually say you're sorry." Rocket nodded again.

Peter walked over to Rocket and sat down next to him. He could feel heat once again radiating from Rocket's fur, and could smell a noxious fume emanating from his uncleaned body.

"I- I'm sorry for what I did to you. Honestly. All my fault. I just don't like sharing secrets with people." Peter nodded slowly and cooed him to continue on. "I won't ever do that again. Entirely inconsiderate."

"I accept your apology, though next time I won't be so willing to forgive you. I'll haul your ass back to Xandar if I have to." Rocket nodded in agreement. He had been absolved of his worries, his fears that he was even more of an outcast than he believed. Rocket them noticed how seemingly close that they were sitting next to each other. It was good day that Peter had just happened to forgive him. It was entirely different to be forgiven and then trusted again. He saw just how close that they were sitting next to each other, and realized that Peter's hand was nearly brushing his leg. Peter though, was off on his own train of thought about how his face would interrupt his seriousness with hostiles. How could anyone take him seriously with a bandage over his face?

"How do you do it," Rocket asked with much interest. Peter was pulled out of his train of thoughts and back into the real world.

"How do I do what?" Rocket looked up at Peter, admiring his handiwork.

"How do you get over things so easy. I was sitting in here for 2 days worrying myself sick that I had messed up this whole thing. And you brush it off like it happens every day." Peter shrugged.

"I'm not sure. But it's not easy. I couldn't tell you how much I wanted to kill you when I woke up."

"I could understand why." Peter brought his attention back to the deal he made just moments ago.

"You never told me what you were dreaming about." Rocket's gut dropped, but he began to explain every precise detail of what his own mind was like.

* * *

**So, what do you think Rocket's been dreaming of that caused him to throw something at Peter? If you've been reading other FF stories on GOTG you probably already know (so that's basically 100% of you). The next few chapters will probably be a bit more plot intensive, as we will get back into exploring the Fotron Quadrant. Make sure you leave a review for me to think about when I'm writing next chapter, I always read them and refresh my emails consistently for new ones!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Welcome to Chapter 4 of To Break a Leg! I'm sincerely sorry about the delay in getting this installation out, I promise I won't leave this story in the dark. I have actually began to consider some endings for this, which should not be for a few more chapters. I'd like to thank the reviewers for all of their amazing feedback on where the story is going, and keeping this alive to become an 18,000 word story. It is so large, that I can no longer load it up on Google Docs to work on it with my phone (Which is disappointing, really, considering the the first and some of the second chapter was all written on my phone).**

**This chapter focuses more on the plot, as the last focused more on relationship developments. I promise more character development in the next chapter, as I have added a whole ton of new cultures and characters to work with. Anyway, enough of my bantering, Enjoy!**

* * *

Peter awoke with a start, his heart was thumping in his chest. This time though, it wasn't his fear of the ship being destroyed, nor an alarm system. He had this sketchy feeling that somewhere in his mind, Rocket was probably experiencing nightmares. Honestly, Peter had no clue why this bothered him so much. They weren't really his problems, and there was nothing much he could do to help him anyway.

The thoughts that Rocket must've been experiencing though, did run through his mind. He sat up as thoughts and fears of being experimented on washed through his brain. People in white coats, approaching him with a syringe. Being forced to look them in the eyes as they injected him with it's vile contents. Peter slipped out of his bed and put on some slippers that he had found laying around. Considering how recently the ship had been created, it somehow filled with junk unnaturally fast.

More thoughts ran through his mind, thoughts of being held down as people approaching with a dangerous looking set of scalpels. Screaming for mercy upon his soul if they stopped. In fact, he would do anything for them to stop. He couldn't bear to anticipate the pain of being cut open while awake. Slowly but surely, like a knife cutting through leather, he could feel his skin being cut open. He screamed in agony. Tears ran down his face.

Peter jerked back to reality, realizing again that he was overthinking Rocket's situation. It wasn't his problem, and the last time he tried to help he just got concussed. Peter stepped out of his room and ignored the screams and moans of horror as he walked past. On the illuminated ship, he got a glass of water and stood next to the pilot's chair as he gazed out of the cockpit. The stars were beautiful, twinkling in a dazzling array of reds and blues. It was unfortunate that they would never had time to visit them all, but then again, they really weren't that exciting to begin with.

The ship had been programmed on a course to reach inhabited planets by morning. Once they had arrived, they could inquire the local populace about the whereabouts of The Ranger. From there, the plan was a bit of a mess, but at least it was part of a plan. He finished his glass of water and set it back down in the kitchen, before proceeding back to his room. Rocket's room and quieted down by now, and regular breathing could be heard from inside. Peter's heart settled in it's place as he realized that Rocket would be okay. He laid back down on his bed and pulled the sheets back over him. He drifted off hoping that the night would not bring any unpleasantries. He turned out to be very wrong. In his dreams, he had strong visions of the day his mother died, and the days following his abduction from Earth aboard Yondu's ship. At least, he thought in his dream, this is not as bad as dreaming about being experimented on. It gave him slight comfort to realize that someone else was having the same issues as he was.

Peter awoke to the soft buzzing of his Alarm clock. Looking at the time, he realized that everyone else was probably up and awake by now, and that they had arrived at their destination. Peter had never been a morning person, and was often seen walking out of his room in just sweatpants. He opened the door to face the day, and heard talking from the common area.

"I'm not sure how he got over it so easily as well," He heard a female voice state faintly.

"Peter was always very forgiving, he essentially broke us out of prison and let us live in his ship," a more masculine voice replied. He figured this was probably Gamora and Drax talking about him, and walked in on their conversation so he wouldn't have to bear any more Drama.

"Morning guys, we have any coffee?" Gamora and Drax looked over at him innocently and shook their heads.

"We prefer not to start our day by drugging ourselves," Gamora said truthfully. Peter shrugged and continued over to the brewing machine.

"Suit Yourselves." Peter continued to scoop beans in until he had everything set just about right. He pressed start, and was comforted by the whirring noises that the machine made while brewing. He went through quite great lengths to get coffee, as it was not nearly as treasured a commodity as it was on Earth. Gamora and Drax continued on a conversation about whether or not her hair looked better when she used a different conditioner, but Peter drifted off absent mindedly. Thinking about The Ranger. Thinking about the plan. It was possible that they could steal a whole bunch of valuable technology from him and leave him alive. They would just have to evade the Nova Corps for the rest of their lives. He crossed the plan out as it relied on having an expert of engineering, and the only straight A engineer they had was also the least competent of the group.

"What do you think Peter?" Gamora asked quizzically. Peter opened his mouth, but no words came forth.

"I- I think it's great," he responded guiltily.

"You weren't listening, were you," she said in a disappointed tone. Besides from being a mastermind outlaw, he apparently also had to be an expert on fashion and social politics.

"No, I wasn't." Gamora walked over to him and took a look at the coffee machine, still brewing it's black splendor.

"Then enlighten us, what were you thinking about?" It was blatantly obvious to Peter that she was prying, but at least he could be honest about what he was thinking this time. He smiled for a moment.

"I was thinking about our contract, and how we are planning on completing it."

"It seems like normal you to be thinking like that." Peter rolled his eyes and gathered a coffee mug from one of the cabinets. It clinked along with the other few mugs as it went. Good thing the cabinets automatically locked when not in use, otherwise there previous encounter may have left them with shards of ceramic everywhere.

"Well that's because I want everyone to live, if you haven't noticed," he said assuredly as he poured the coffee into his mug. He brought it up to his lips before noticing Rocket walking down the hall in a peculiarly damp manner. He continued taking his sip, enjoying and savoring every second of it. "Since when did you get the time to take a shower?"

"Ever since you decided to start sleeping in half the day," he replied humorously. Rocket walked over to the refrigerator and opened it with haste. Peter's eyes followed him quietly as he sipped his coffee. "Ah, what the hell do we have to eat around here," he growled as he slammed the fridge door closed and started looking through different cabinets.

"We have coffee!" Peter almost shouted as a reply. Rocket looked back at him and shook his head.

"Who in the world drinks that stuff?" Peter's expression turned into a smile as he leaned against the countertop.

"I do," he said in an almost giddy reply.

"Whatever, fine. I'll try it if it makes you feel any better." Peter took this as his cue and opened the cabinet a second time. He grabbed a mug, twirled it skillfully on his index finger, and set it on the counter. Rocket just rolled his eyes. Peter walked past him and over to the rest of the group at the table.

"Okay, so here's what I'm thinking," he started off. Gamora and Drax both looked up at him and put aside their activities. "We go to the location the Nova Corps gave us. We ask around, see if anybody can recall something about our little friend. Then, we barge in blow the place up, get what we need, and get out of here."

"Since when did we befriend The Ranger?" Drax asked in confusion. Gamora and Peter stared at him. "Oh . . ."

"That hardly sounds like a plan, why would any local citizens help us?" Peter smiled.

"In case you forgot, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy. They should probably recognize us." Gamora rolled her eyes.

"Blah, how can you drink this stuff!?" Rocket shouted in disgust after attempting to drink the coffee.

"Generally people add stuff like milk and sugar to sweeten it." Peter looked back at the two of them. He wetted his lips eagerly put his hands on the table. Rocket tumbled through the fridge looking for something to add to his drink.

"Okay Peter, it's better than no plan at all," Gamora replied in a reluctant tone. Peter picked up his coffee and headed for the hall towards the cockpit.

"We'll be en route shortly." Peter made his way down the hall slowly, enjoying his time. Of course, it was only but a few seconds. In the cockpit, he set down his mug in one of the specially designed cupholders. The caffeine was making him jittery, and he had still forgot to even put a shirt on. He flipped a mass of buttons and switches and targeted themselves for the coordinates given to him by the Nova Corps. They were already within the system that the coordinates were in, and the planet appeared to be a dark gray, brightly illuminated planet. The Milano buzzed and whirred as it went through space towards the planet, Captain Quill at the helm. He tapped his hands on the dashboard, wondering just how many parts Rocket had taken out of there. It was sort of a wonder that the ship still flew at all. Peter got up from his chair and walked down the hallway to his room. Nothing had really changed in the minute or so he had left the Kitchen, besides the fact that Rocket was now drinking the coffee in various degrees while adding more of whatever was in his hands. He turned into his room, and looked at his shirt collection. There was nothing particularly interesting that was popping out at him, but he did have the feeling that another one of them was missing. He eventually picked one up when a massive jolt rocked the ship. An beeping alarm started going off in his bedroom, since it was the captain's room after all. He hurriedly put on the shirt and continued back down the hall in a frantic manner. Gamora popped her head out of the hall to see Peter walking towards the cockpit.

"Can you fly a little smoother?" He tried to respond as quickly as he could before continuing past her.

"It wasn't me." Gamora's expression cleared and she went back to the commons. Peter walked into the control room to see a dazzling light out the window and an incoming transmission on the main monitor.

"Shit." Peter adjusted his shirt and sat down in the chair. He sighed as he accepted the incoming transmission. A blue face filled the screen, a feminine voice emerging through her lips.

"Attention Milano, we are holding you in our defense beam due to lack of security clearance." Peter cleared his throat.

"This is Peter Quill, captain of the Milano, we are not here under any illegitimate purposes." He really wasn't even sure what the name of the planet or who the inhabitants were.

"We are requesting a security clearance code," she replied in an almost robotic voice. He scratched his neck in mild concern, knowing full well that this may be the end of their mission.

"We- We don't have a clearance code," he responded in an embarrassed manner. Rocket came into the room with haste, nearly splashing the now refilled mug on him. He jumped into the weapons seat, Gamora following close behind.

"Are you affiliated with the Nova Corps?" Peter and Rocket gave each other a look. Peter pressed his finger against the mute button on the panel.

"What should we say?" All three of them gave each other suspicious looks.

"Well if we say we are, they might destroy, but if we say we aren't they might do the same," Gamora logically responded. She seemed to be gripping his chair particularly hard as she stood behind him. She seemed quite innocent in the situation, and if they were going to die it was for quite a stupid reason.

"I say we tell them the truth," Rocket said firmly as he began to boot the weapons system. Peter looked down as he realized he had a hard decision to make. He could either tell them, or not tell them. He began tapping his foot on the ground. Time was running out. He tapped the unmute button.

"We are sort of affiliated with them, why do you ask?" A stagnant smell entered the room, the air filled with tension. At any moment they could be destroyed by the vastly superior weapon system. Rocket wouldn't even have time to get off a second shot.

"Please verify, are you Peter Quill?" Peter rolled his eyes as he realized he previously answered the question.

"Yes, I am Peter Quill." The defensive beam suddenly stopped, no longer being suspended in space. Everyone sighed in relief.

"You have been granted access to Hydroxa and surrounding planets by request of the Nova Corps," the voice firmly sounded before ending the transmission.

"See, I told you that they would know who we are!" Gamora just rolled her eyes in disbelief and walked back down the corridor. Rocket leaned back in his chair and picked up his coffee. Peter did the same. He watched as the raccoon gulped it down with much haste, and quickly finished off the entire mug.

"Man, what on earth did you put in there?" Rocket set his mug down and fidgeted around.

"I don't know man, but like, I feel all tingly and stuff. Maybe I should get some more." Peter smiled and put his feet up onto the Console while the autopilot directed them into the atmosphere of the planet. The raccoon picked up his mug and awkwardly speed walked out of the room.

Peter held the controls carefully at his fingertips while the Milano landed on Hydroxa. The landing gear thumped on the ground and the suspension kept them from all falling over. He disabled the engines, and turned off all of the navigation systems. Making sure that everything was correct for a second time, he headed down the hall towards his team.

"Everyone know what to do?" Peter asked enthusiastically. Everyone nodded and headed for the exit. The view was something they never would have expected, and only Peter had known what they were coming to land on. The Ship Port they had landed on was spurring with activity. Large cargo ships with masses of goods were landing and taking off in almost slow motion. Assisting craft were buzzing all around, settling her down softly on the platform with a loud thud that reverberated through their bones. Beyond the landing port, massive, tall structures rose from the ground, dazzling in the yellow haze that wrapped the planet. Thousands of transport crafts were flying around, in and between buildings in formulated lines.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" The Guardians all looked over at the new female individual who had seemingly come from nowhere.

"Who are you?" Peter asked gleefully as he shifted his weight on his other leg. The woman smiled.

"I am Jamoral, the security guard assigned to assist the landing party of pad number 8615. I assume you are the landing party?" She looked down at Rocket, unsure of what exactly their purpose was.

"Yes, we are," Rocket said as he drew back his lips into a growl. The woman took a small step back and regained her composure. Peter wasn't sure what life form she exactly was. She was blue, but a portion of her face had also been replaced with plastic showing some mechanical working inside. She was decked in a gray uniform, with a black band strung across with two stars near the shoulder. Her cap was of similar construction, more or less a gray Rogatywka with two stars embroidered on the top.

"The city is the largest trade hub in the sector, billions of credits are transferred in and out of Hydroxa every day. But, I assume you already know this." Peter reached his hand behind his neck and nervously scratched it.

"Well, uh, the thing is, we really don't know anything," Peter said uncomfortably. His team members looked around at every which way but Jamoral.

"Fair enough. This city was built many hundreds of years ago by the Hydrax people. It served as their place of worship, somewhere they could ask their leaders for guidance. Over the years though, they became corrupt, invested in power and wealth. This slow change in the way their ideals worked turned the solar system awry. They began to mine other planets for their wealth, and hold an elite few families control of the government." She paused for a moment, refreshing her memory. "Eventually, through different social struggles, a resistance formed on the planet, attempting to condemn their beliefs. There were many major battles, one being here right in this city. This platform was built over the ruins of ancient temples and houses. The planet was thrown into utter chaos. The solar system was divided, and the Hydrax government was scared."

She took this brief pause to usher the team down to one of the walkways that led below the platform. Under the platforms where massive loading and unloading bays, fit for carrying cargo containers onto maglevs and sending them deeper into the city. Walkways were spaced out against these, the windows providing excellent vantage from which the Guardians viewed.

"Over the course of a century, the battle had shifted in favour of the rebellion, known as the Hydroxa Alliance at the time. The Nova Corps, which you have come from, were good allies of the Hydroxa Alliance. They funded many of the ships and technology used to take down Hydrax Frigates. Hydrax lost control of the solar system, their leaders escaping into unknown depths of the quadrant. The planet was taken and renamed after the rebellion, and a new government was established." The group continued down the walkway, heading towards a large doorway that seemed to provide exit to the outside. Drax looked mildly uncomfortable in such a confined space, and would often glance around as if the windows had no glass. "This city, as well as many others, were built in the ever expanding trade economy of our system, which has been much more prosperous than ever before."

They all walked out of the platform area into an expansive and crowded city street. Venders were everywhere, attempting to sell raw meat to watches. It was a city of tomorrow. A Utopia. But of course that was not true. Poverty lay around, those who could not find work often just lived on the streets and scrap for food. Rocket was the first to notice such a populace, being the lowest to the ground. Many people were lined up against the walls of the buildings, looking away in silence.

"This person, The Ranger, he is one of the Hydrax leaders who escaped the rebellion with his life. He has coordinated attacks against our planets and our cities, this city not excluded from that list." And then the homelessness and poverty began to click in Rocket's head as well as Peter's. This planet had been previously attacked by The Ranger.

"What kind of attacks does he make?" Rocket asked with a serious tone. Jamoral looked down at him sorrowfully. The whole group stopped for a moment, waiting for a reply. Rocket turned his head to the side as he knew he was not going to like the answer.

"He attacks in large ships, larger than our defense system can handle. Then he makes . . . orbital strikes against our cities. Unfortunately, he can wipe several thousand lives off the planet in a single blast, and cause millions of credits in infrastructure damage. If he hits a business district, well then that can cost the economy billions, as well as putting many out of work."

Rocket shook his head and began to form his own thoughts about revenge. Gamora and Drax looked about the same, neither being as emotionally affected as the other two. "That is why when we heard the Nova Corps were sending help, we were surprised. We just didn't think it would be four, um, people," Jamoral said as she led the group further into the city.

Not much talking happened after that, and the group walked down the streets of the city for what seemed to be hours. They had walked past many tall buildings, and it seemed that there was people wherever they went. Peter had taken a keen interest in all of the strange looking restaurants and trinket shops, many of them not being heavily popular. Rocket on the other hand, was much more concerned about the density of bars and tool shops in the area. He had been promised a large wealth of loot along with the mission, but from his perspective, it seemed that the Hydroxa had taken every piece of scrap left over and turned it into something that could be sold. Profit was seeming less and less worthwhile, especially after that whole ordeal that had occurred on the ship. It was funny to think that not even two days ago his main concern was about the person walking next to him.

Peter sighed as they eventually ended up at the entrance to the Grand Hall, their walk taken almost two hours. The sky had darkened, the sun no longer being visible over the tops of the buildings that were surrounding them.

"Why didn't we just fly here," Peter asked sarcastically. Jamoral took his tone just as serious as Drax did, not understanding that it was supposed to be a joke.

"I did not think any of you had enough credits to pay for a Class One flight." Peter just frowned and looked over to Gamora for support. There was none to be given, not that he was expecting any though. Rocket shook his head and headed up the steps that lead to the massive building.

Inside, the structure was mostly built of marble, with the lobby stretching up at least 8 floors, the walkways shining with glass railings along the side. There was a very clear walkway that had been built into the floor, the gray standing out against the almost perfect white. Hovering security drones could be seen buzzing about the populace of the building. Jamoral caught the attention of one of these drones, and waved an ID pass in front of it's sensor. It flashed a few colours before flying off down the hall. Jamoral made a head gesture as if to follow it.

As much as Peter wanted his money, he wasn't sure why they were being led to the main political structure of the Quadrant. It was originally planned to be an in and out mission, with no major hassles. He had never expected for the inhabitants to become concerned about their mission at all, and completely disregarded the fact that a government had been established here. The drone flew into an elevator with glass doors, the group following it from behind.

"Before we go any further, I must ask that you give me any weapons that you may have on you." No one in the elevator moved. "Let me rephrase that, give me the weapons I know you're hiding." Rocket rolled his eyes and handed him a concealed pistol that was hidden under his jumpsuit. Peter handed over a Pocketknife in his coat, and Gamora pulled a dagger out of her boot and handed it to Jamoral. She then looked expectantly at Drax, expecting him to give her a weapon that he was concealing.

"Any weapons?" Jamoral asked impatiently.

"Unless you consider my fists to be weapons, I have nothing concealed on me." Drax looked at Jamoral and spoke in a serious and firm tone. She backed off, but expected that he was still hiding some weapon. The elevator door opened and let out a sharp, but classic, dinging sound. They all stepped off and began feeling mildly uncomfortable as they were entirely out of place in the room. The walls, floor, ceiling, and lights, were all white. Any color was easily shown on a person, making everyone stand out. It was also utterly silent within the room, the noise of Jamoral's mechanical whirring becoming more apparent as they stood there. A man appeared from behind one of the doors, also wearing a white uniform that closely matched his body. He had black hair, and appeared to be a human around 50 years old.

"Captain Jamoral, thank you for escorting the Guardians to my residence. You are dismissed." With that, Jamoral walked back aboard the elevator and floated back down. The rest of the guardians were left standing there with the man in white.

"Let me introduce myself, I am Prime Lord Jason, elected leader of the Fotron Quadrant, representing the people of the planets." He stuck his hand out formally to Peter, who graciously accepted the request.

"Peter Quill, captain of the Milano." Jason smiled at him and moved down the line of heros. He looked down at Rocket, who looked back at him directly. Normally, Rocket would have a problem with an authoritative figure standing over him, but he let Jason do it. Just this once. Jason stuck his hand out to Rocket. He did his best to return the handshake with his paw, a strange combination of shaking his arm with clawing ensuing.

" I'm Rocket. Do you happen to have a lavatory around here?" Jason smiled and nodded.

"On the door to your left, it should be the third door on the left side of the room." Rocket muttered something of a thanks and moved off in the direction listed. Jason shook and met Gamora, as well as Drax, making his formal introduction complete. "I will say, this is a pleasure to be working with you. What you did for the Nova Corp was amazing." They just all nodded and smiled. "Let's move to the Dining room, we may be more comfortable there."

The group walked over to where Jason was leading them, but it only left Peter with a bad feeling in his gut. His idea of a small mission had now turned into the concept of declaring an entire war upon criminals of the Fotron Quadrant.

* * *

**Well, that was interesting! This chapter, I introduced the Hydrax, the old corrupted leaders of the planet, and the Hydroxa, the new democratic government of the planet that it was named after. Jamoral, the cyborg person, helped me represent modern advancements and gave key exposition. Jason, is the leader of the Hydroxa Alliance. Hopefully you aren't feeling too confused, as I was sort of getting things confused myself as I was writing this. I would like to say that I didn't enjoy writing this chapter as much, probably becuase not much happens. They just sort of live a day. Next chapter should have some good action, some good tests of relations, and should come out better written. Thank you for reading, please review, and I'll see you in the next chapter!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Welcome back to Chapter 5 of TBAL! I'm very much alive, and I am quite busy, hence the reason I haven't updated in 11 days. That does not mean that I won't continue though, I understand what it feels like to want to read more of something but the author won't continue it. This chapter, I am happy to reintroduce Peter and Rocket's friendship, which I seem to have totally ignored last chapter. I found that I was much more into writing the story when it was just about the two of them, so I focused mainly on them and found this really enjoyable to write. Your reviews are definitely guiding the direction of the story and I am super excited to read more of them. Also, please note that Jason is not Peter's father, though J'son and Jason do sound strikingly similar. Enough banter, enjoy!**

* * *

Jason smiled and turned to walk out of the room. Peter looked at Gamora for any sign that they should be worried, and she shrugged back at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he understood that Jason was a trustable authority figure. Jason was there to guard and protect his Quadrant, just as Peter and the Guardians were there to protect the Galaxy.

He walked through some chrome archways and was soon led to a large, windowed room full of white cuboid furniture. Noticing the L shape couched, Peter instantly jumped to it, knowing it was the best spot in the room. On the wall hung a large black television, probably the darkest thing in the entire room. There was probably some symbolism to be found in the room, but Peter was more engrossed with the view out the windows. It was a great expanse, the bustling city at night illuminated with extravagant colours. Jason seated himself on a white recliner, while Gamora and Drax decided to share a couch. Peter's gaze slowly shifted back to Jason, who he forgot was actually talking.

"So what we have been planning is a full scale invasion of any surrounding planets with suspicious activities around the edge of the quadrant. This should eventually flush him out of hiding one way or another." Jason looked confidently around the room. "The Nova Prime said you were the best they had, so I was kind of wondering what you thought."

"I think it's a good idea," Gamora said adamantly.

"That's great, I can prepare for a . . ." Jason slowly trailed off as Gamora raised her hand to speak again.

"I said it was a good idea, not a great idea." Jason looked down and pursed his lips. "Next time he attacks, we can just follow him back to where he came from."

"Only if it were that easy-" Peter began to lose concentration of the conversation as he noticed Rocket walking back towards him. Perhaps it was just the day which had been so long, or the fact that politics was never his strong suit that he couldn't keep his mind in the right place. Rocket came into the room, Gamora and Jason still fighting it out over how they were going to track The Ranger down. Rocket paused for a moment to gaze around the room, noting the lack of seating around the room. His eyes moved over to Jason, in his white modern suit, debating with emphasis, and then back to Peter. He met his gaze, the raccoon and the human both looking at each other for a moment, understanding the same thought of boredom and tire.

Eventually their gaze diverted, and everything went back to normal for a moment. Peter shook his head a little as he came into reality, and noticed that Rocket was taking a seat right next to him.

"Yes, I understand that you think we can defend the city, but if one more person dies because of this I get blamed for being irresponsible!" Jason said while shifting himself in his chair.

"If your safety system works as well as you originally claimed then why do you refuse to trust it," Gamora countered softly. Jason scratched his chin in ease.

"Because I don't trust one mechanism to keep us all safe. If it fails, even more of us die. He potentially knows the location of the generator which powers the defense system. If he takes it out, we are all screwed." Gamora nodded in agreement to his statement, attempting to rationalize the situation.

Peter noticed Rocket sitting next to him, absentmindedly staring down at the floor. rocket's legs were slowly swinging back and forth as if thinking about something else. Peter swore he could feel the heat of Rocket's body emanating from him and seeping into his own. Considering the size of the couch they were seated on, he determined that there was only a few reasons that Rocket was sitting so close to him. He smiled.

"We could create a diversion. Make it seem like another less populated planet is vulnerable, and then attack with the entire fleet. We could get in and plant a tracking device, and follow them back to their base." Jason nodded strongly and pointed his finger at her.

"Now that's a plan I could adopt," he almost shouted at her. Jason leaned back in his chair and spared a few moments to see what everyone else was up to. Drax was listening to the conversation intently, now whispering to Gamora about something he didn't understand. Jason ruffled his brow as he noticed Peter looking at his Raccoon friend who was sitting quite close to him. He looked away and didn't inquire further.

"Well then," Jason started, "It looks like we have reached a consensus. We set up a diversion. The only question is how do we get the The Ranger to come out to a sparse planet." Jason picked up his glass and water and took a good sip while the others thought to themselves.

"I believe Rocket could assist with that," Drax announced out of the blue. Jason paused mid sip and looked over at Drax, for he had not spoken in the duration of the meeting. Rocket's head immediately came to life and he looked around the room in a confused state. He turned to his side and noticed how close Peter really was to him, but came to figure it may look even more strange if he moved away.

"Diversion to attract The Ranger's Attention to a small planet," Rocket heard Peter whisper to him as everyone's gaze shifted to him.

"Yes well, um, let's see. We could . . . make it seem like a disaster was happening at the planet. Use a bunch of radios and broadcast a bunch of distress calls. Then The Ranger will show up to try and make the worst of the situation." Rocket nodded and looked at everyone's faces. "Right?"

"Yeah, that sounds like it will actually work," Gamora said slowly. Jason just simply nodded and didn't say a word about it, assuming that the raccoon had heard the entire conversation. "Well then, if that's settled we should probably get some rest."

"Agreed entirely," Rocket moaned. Jason put down his glass of water and stood up.

"I have proper accommodations for each of you, unless any of you were planning on sharing a bed." He looked around the room, and slowly turned his head until he looked directly at Peter and Rocket. They blankly looked back at him. "Okay then, solos it is. Each of your rooms are in the hall in the back of the apartment. Choose wisely." He mildly chuckled. "Feel free to use any of the clothes in your closet," he paused and looked at Rocket. "I had something custom tailored for you before your arrival, it's in the linen closet. You'll know when you see it." Rocket squinted his eyes and shrugged his shoulders but got up from the couch. He looked behind his shoulder at Peter, and then continued on into the hall. Gamora and Drax split up and took to their rooms. Peter hung back on the couch while Jason went and put his drink somewhere in the kitchen. He came back out shortly and dimmed the lights.

"Everything alright?" Jason asked concernedly. Peter just sighed and shook his head. "Need anything to help you sleep? We have some pretty good medication in Fotron." Peter smiled.

"I'm good, exhausted from all that walking we did earlier." Jason nodded and swallowed something he got out of a cabinet. "Sorry I couldn't send out someone to pick you up. Fuels a little low after that whole planetary attack." Jason looked down at his feet. "And if you don't mind me asking, is everything alright with you and your furry team member?" Peter looked up at him defensively.

"Everything's fine." With that, Peter got up and walked down the hall to the last open room. He walked past Rocket who was looking at something he had pulled out of the closet in the hall. He stopped at the final doorway, and took a step inside, closing the door behind him. It was a very nice room, the walls painted a light brown. The lights were on the walls, a very dimly lit natural glow appearing on the ceiling. A small sofa had been nestled into the design, sitting against the wall unobtrusively. A king bed lay low to the ground, with white sheets and and 4 pillows resting firmly atop it.

Peter hovered over to the closet, which contained mostly white clothing. There seemed to be identical copies to what Jason was wearing in all different sizes assorted all on one side of the closet. There was some white flannel pajamas that seemed to fit him well, and a white T-Shirt that suited him just fine. A few thoughts about the Jason's obsession with the colour white ran through his mind, but it came up a blank. Space racism wasn't really a thing. Sure, Peter thought to himself, Species discrimination was apparent, but not based off of colour.

He peeled back the covers on the bed and was not dismayed at everything still being particularly devoid of colour. He walked over to the lights and turned them off, submerging himself into near darkness. Some extremely dim lights that were in the ceiling began to glow a comforting blue. He slipped into his bed and watched as the lights faded back into utter darkness. His eyelids closed lightly and his thoughts began to run amuck, taking over a majority of his rational thoughts, until he drifted off into a tired sleep.

* * *

The door to Peter's room opened silently, the well oiled hinges serving their purpose rather well. The sound of feet lightly tapping the floor as someone walked in did not awake him from his slumber. The door closed again, and the glowing ceiling lights turned on again. The person made their way over to where Peter was laying, standing not far from where he lay on his side.

"Ah fuck this is stupid," the raccoon whispered under his breath. Thoughts about turning back formed in his mind, but he knew as much as the next guy that if he had gone this far, he would go all the way.

"Peter." Rocket whispered audibly. Seeing as there was no response, he tried again. "Peter, wake the hell up." Peter moaned something incomprehensible as he couldn't understand why he was being awoken.

"Rocket?" Peter said as he blinked and focused on the raccoon standing beside his bed. "Am, Am I dreaming?"

"Why in the world would you see me in your- you know, nevermind that. I just wanted to know if I could crash in your room tonight." Peter groaned and looked over at the clock, seeing it was half past one in the morning.

"What, why? And what on earth are you wearing?" Rocket sighed in embarrassment.

"It's just, I dunno, doesn't feel right to me. And this was given to me by Prime Lord Jason." Peter opened his eyes fully and admired the handiwork that had gone into designing the piece of clothing. It was a full body suit, which Rocket had been known to wear quite often, except the fabric was all white with gray pockets and gray shoulder pads.

"Yeah, that's fine, take the couch." Rocket nodded and pawed his eyes a small bit. Peter got back into a sleeping mood, not evening remembering that Rocket had joined him in the room just moments ago. Peter drifted back asleep before Rocket even fully made himself settled on to the couch. Rocket usually wasn't one for wimping out in new places. He was, in most peoples mind, a certified badass. But when it came down to Peter, he sort of just lost all of his history and didn't care. He let emotions get through the way of his life, but in a way, he didn't really care that Peter knew. It was his life after all, he was free to do whatever he wanted.

Rocket's eyes slid closed very great ease, attempting to hang on to reality for as long as he could, before he was completely out. But it was immediately obvious to him that something was terribly wrong. He opened his eyes and say up. He was no longer in the bedroom, no longer in the safety and comfort of Peter, and was now trapped somewhere else. Somewhere with a very bad smell and a strikingly familiar landscape. His heart rate began to increase as he realized that he was in a cage. An inescapable cage. His back hurt, it hurt a lot. Someone picked up his cage and began to carry it down a corridor of people wearing white coats. He was carried to a white room with a table and two chairs. The cage was opened, and before he could make a dash to escape, someone grabbed his sides. Fear began to pulse through his veins, wondering where he was, and what was going on. He was set down in a chair, his wrists strapped to cuffs that felt much too tight to be normal.

"Let go!" Rocket shouted in confusion as the man walked away. It became increasingly hard to comprehend words for an unapparent reason. Another woman appeared from a door on the other side of the room, and set down a binder on the table in front of him. She seated herself as well.

"Subject 2605 appears to be showing definite resistance in the braces. Cognitive functions seem to be increased as well, the subject spoke his first words." She leaned forward and looked into Rocket's eyes. Those eyes were familiar. They were eyes that no one could possibly forget. Rocket felt dread, he knew dread, and this was it. This lady meant nothing good could happen. He felt himself involuntarily shake and look away from the lady. She pointed at a picture with her finger, and then drew her finger back up to her mouth. Rocket somehow could no longer understand anything the lady the saying, it all sounded like gibberish to him. He pulled against the cuffs, attempting to free himself, but the lady only grabbed his head and pointed it right at the picture.

Rocket had no idea what the picture depicted. He wasn't even sure what a picture actually was. She let go of him and walked over to a very dangerous looking button with caution tape on it. Rocket screamed in agony as he felt large amounts of electricity flow through his body shortening his life span for sure. It seemed like it would never end, as the area around the braces became slightly singed and emitted a burning smell.

The lady once again pointed at the picture, thought Rocket was more concerned about escaping than caring at this point. THe lady noticed this and seemed unamused. She messed around with a few more dials and put her finger over the button. Rocket stopped trying to escape out of fear from another shock, and looked the lady in the eyes. She showed no remorse, and electricity began to flow through the cuffs once again. He screamed in agony and pain, not fully understanding why he was in the situation.

As soon as it started, everything quickly faded to darkness, before hearing the name Rocket being echoed throughout his brain. His eyes show open, his heart pounded, and his blood ran thick with adrenaline. He unsheathed his claws and prepared to swipe at the closest object, but for some reason it was vaguely familiar.

"Rocket, man, what the hell!?" he screamed at Rocket. Rocket shook his head and blinked a few times before calming himself down. Peter took this as a good side and sat down next to Rocket on the couch.

"It was, It was a dream, wasn't it?" His breathing was still quite fast, and he could feel his heart still rapidly pulsing through his chest. Peter moved his arm around his shoulders, using all of his human ability to comfort him.

"More of a nightmare, by the look of it," Peter said to him slowly. Rocket relaxed, lowering his shoulders and taking deep breaths through his nose. It was times like these where he remembered that he was beginning to lose his badass status. Even if it was only to Peter, it still made all the difference in the world. The facts were inevitable though. They were crossing at least some sort of social line, some sort of friendship barrier that was not meant to be crossed. Hell, Rocket didn't even know who he was, much less about who other people were.

"Tell me a story, Quill." Peter was not taken aback by the question, as it had been of Rocket to ask about him when he was feeling in a low. Peter went from a sitting to position to more of a half lying half sitting position that was more comfortable for him. He nudged Rocket as to tell him it was okay to lean against him, to which he took positively.

"Well, a long while back, before I had even dreamed of living life on a spaceship, I lived on a planet called Earth. Terran if you like. In our culture there was a large social class system, which was fueled by a few main groups." Rocket's breathing returned to normal as he listened, being relaxed back to sleep slowly. "Behold, I did not end up on the top of this class structure. It wasn't a good situation for me to be in. People would often call me names, they would steal from me, blame things on me, make lies about me. It was horrible." Peter glanced down at Rocket. "Not as horrible as what you had to endure."

"No, everyone had tough times Quill. Perspective," Rocket said as he yawned.

"In comparison, my past seemed like nothing. But it was bad for me at the time. I felt I had no way out. My father was gone, left me as a kid, and my mother had cancer and was going to die." Peter paused and thought about his recollection of the past. Holes and gaps in long term memory began to be filled in by images of Rocket's past, which he would sometimes have nightmares about. Ever since he told him, things had never been the same.

"But then I got picked up and met you guys. The most amazing team I could ever want to be a part of." Peter looked down and saw that Rocket had fallen asleep leaning against him. It was too early to try and move him off of him, but he didn't want to have to wake him from his peaceful slumber. So Peter just put his own head back and closed his eyes. Thoughts about the world flooded his mind, images of Gamora, ideals of Jason, the task of The Ranger at hand. It was funny how a seemingly simple mission could turn into an extremely complicated task in about the duration of a day.

But the thoughts seemed detached, and he awoke to find about an hour had passed. They were both still lying in the same position. Peter figured that he could safely move Rocket without being violently attacked, but prayed anyway that nothing bad was going to happen to him if he did somehow manage to wake up. Carefully, he slid his hands under the raccoon's back and legs, and lifted him off of the couch. Peter was not sure how a raccoon of such a small stature could weigh so much.

He set him down on the bed, assuming that his natural fur would help him stay warm without the aid of blankets. Peter walked back over to his own side of the bed and got in, not thinking it strange at all that another person was now also sleeping on his bed. But it was only because this person was Rocket, and it would probably be irresponsible to leave him on the couch.

Peter listened quietly to Rocket's slow breathing. It was mildly creepy, but at the same time it was good to know that he was safe. If anymore nightmares rolled around, he would be right next to him. Peter closed his eyes and drifted back into a near sleep state. Why was he so concerned with Rocket? He cared about everyone, his team, and everyone around him, but he could not come to figure why the raccoon was so important to him. They had shared a bit of their past with each other, they had spent a day getting to know each other, and they both had the occasional nightmare. Well, maybe they did have quite a few things in common. But not much later, Peter drifted into sleep as well, and they both lay on the bed in a dreamless slumber.

* * *

Jason looked out the window of his Penthouse at the city that lay before him. He understood that the decisions he made affected the billions of people that lived there, and that failure to protect them would end his term in office. He ran his hand through his hair and turned away from the window. In his right hand, he was holding a clear glass of ice water which he swirled around slowly as he contemplated waking the Guardians that were staying with him.

He decided that freedom from The Ranger was not something worth waiting for, and made his way to the hallway which his company was sleeping. When he came to the doors, he noticed that one of them was already open, but no one seemed to be roaming around the apartment. Curiosity got the best of him, so he went further down the hall to the open door. Most of the decoration in the bedrooms was white, which was a choice that he had come to making. White doors, white walls, white furniture, and white suits. It just seemed to fit everyone well. White was devoid of corruption, it was clean, and it was noticeable if it stained.

He grabbed the handle and slowly opened the door to peer inside, but no one seemed to be in room. A look of perplexion ran through his face momentarily. Where was the raccoon that was supposed to be in here? The suit which had been made was not in the closet in the hall, and he would have assumed the raccoon would ask to keep it, not steal it. Especially considering this was only the first day they had known each other.

"Guards, has there been any activity in my residence in the past night?" Jason asked the watch on his wrist. It crackled to life, and the sounds of typing and chatter flowed out of the tiny speakers.

"No, no one has entered or left during the entire night. Everything has been quiet. Not much movement inside the house either. All life forms appear to be in the rooms adjacent." Jason almost nodded as if understanding, but then realized that the communication was audio only.

"Understood, thank you." The audio died out and Jason looked at the watch as if it was still listening to him. In reality it was, but the activation was controlled by a detection system that understood if the question was asked to Security or to someone else. So far, there hadn't been any miscommunications. Other than the watch, the guards had a live feed of thermal imaging around the residence, which was nice to have in situations like this.

He had a good idea of where the raccoon had gone off to anyway. He was also sure that he should start calling the raccoon Rocket, as previous intelligence suggested that he takes negatively to that. Jason headed for Peter Quill's door, knowing full well that he would find both of them in there. But the reasons they were together, and the reason that they didn't want anyone to know, was something Jason knew he had to respect.

* * *

Peter lay at rest in his bed, sleeping next to Rocket. neither of them had awoken in the night, nor had they moved. Suddenly, a loud knocking sound echoed throughout the room, and the lights slowly turned on to a daylight colour. His eyes shot open, knowing that if anyone else found out about this that there would be some serious rumours flying around for the rest of his life. Sitting up, the person outside the door turned the handle and gently opened the door. Rocket was now clearly awake but definitely not in a happy mood. When Rocket realized the situation they were in, they shared momentary eye contact before noticing that Jason had filled in the place of the door.

"It's not what it looks like!" Peter nearly shouted at him. Rocket just readjusted the way he was sitting and slowly got out of the bed.

"I never said it looked like anything," Jason replied calmly. "I want to give you a heads up that I'll be waking everyone in 5 minutes, so do whatever you need to until then." Jason stepped away from the door before momentarily returning and smiling at Rocket. "I like the way that looks on you, Rocket. Keep it. My gift." Rocket's eyes expanded drastically and gave Peter an embarrassed look. Jason left them alone, and neither moved. Rocket decided to sit back down on the bed, both of them sitting down on the side opposite each other.

"What the hell happened last night?" Rocket asked after a short silence.

"Well . . . to the extent I remember, you came in here to crash on my couch, and the next thing I know you were screaming," Peter replied as honestly as he could.

"Yeah, I know that, but how did I end up on your bed?" Peter smiled, though Rocket could not see it.

"You fell asleep so I decided you might prefer to sleep on the bed rather the couch. Was that taking it a little too far?" Rocket turned towards Peter's back and frowned.

"You think?" Peter stood up and walked towards the door.

"Well, just for your information, you can crash in my room anytime you like." Rocket dropped his gaze down to the floor and stood up as well. He started actually making his bed, which was something Peter had never witnessed him do.

"Yeah well, I just don't want anyone to get the wrong idea." Peter nodded and exited the room, heading for the hallway. The other white doors were all closed besides Rocket's, and Jason seemingly vanished into thin air.

Back in his room, Rocket looked at himself in the mirror. What was becoming of him? He had to admit that Peter was being awfully nice to him, but being together was not something that could be done. Besides, they weren't even remotely the same species. It wasn't just the fact that him and Peter were closer that bothered him, it was the fact that Rocket was starting to depend on him more.

He was the one who had been causing the problems, and Peter was the one who was fixing all of them. He was the one who made them stay overnight on the planet, he was the one who had attacked Peter, he was the one who had the nightmares, and it was all his fault. Rocket swore to himself that he would take more responsibility for his actions, and he would stop making other people have to do it for him.

Peter came back down the hall and went back into his room to find Rocket unnaturally staring at himself.

"Are you okay?" Rocket flinched at the words, but then remembered it was just Peter. "I'm fine, Quill, I have stuff to do," Rocket announced with enthusiasm. Peter then watched as the raccoon walked past him and out the door. He shook his head of the strange situation and then continued to find clothes to wear for the day.

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**Well then, what did you think? I am pretty sure that I have figured out the rest of the story, though I have no idea how many chapters it will be fitting into. The path of the story can also be changed based on what you guys say, I will take that into consideration. Make sure you leave a review, and remember to follow the story so you can instantly see when Chapter 6 comes out. Thanks for reading!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hey! Welcome to Chapter 6 of TBAL! It has been over a week since the last update, but man have I been busy. I'm starting to find more time to continue writing this, so hopefully expect another chapter within a week. Thank all of you for your helpful reviews, they are really beneficial to progress. In this chapter you might find some spelling errors since I didn't want to spend another day to proofread it. This chapter also focuses more on Rocket/Peter's relationship than anything else, and I put them in some weird situations. Enough talking, Enjoy!**

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Peter decided on his average clothing, a leather coat with a dark undershirt. It wasn't extremely difficult, as he often wore the same exact outfit day after day. He had decided that Rocket seemed more moody than usual considering he normally only showed aggression. Down the hall, Peter heard Jason knocking on the doors of the others and awakening them for breakfast.

He stepped out into the hallway to meet the day, adjusting his hair slightly. Light from the floor to ceiling windows flooded into the hall revealing the vast and bountiful city that lay before them. It would definitely be a shame for that many people to die because of one man. But they were going to stop that one man, The Ranger, for whatever it will end up taking them.

Jason walked past him dressed in a pure white suit which seemed to nearly camouflage him with the walls. There was a faint sizzling sound that could be heard in the distance, probably something being fried. It was amazing that the Prime Lord of the quadrant still cooked himself breakfast in the morning. Apparently politics was not as boring as Peter thought. He started down the hallway after Jason, heading towards what he assumed was the dining area. A lack of pictures hung on the walls, instead filled with strange memorabilia that appeared to be from ages past.

The dining room was massive in its own regard. It was an open room, connecting to the kitchen with a large breakfast bar and floor to ceiling windows on the back and left sides of the room. The view was phenomenal, and the amount of light that flooded in from the morning sun was almost enough to blind a man.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" Jason asked as he started flipping pancakes with a plastic spatula.

"Indeed, the view is utterly spectacular. Must be able to see for miles." Peter pulled out one of the dining room chairs and seated himself in it.

"You should have seen what it took to convince them for me to live here," Jason responded humorously.

"I could imagine. This doesn't seem like that most defendable residence in the history of leaders." Some amount of talking could be heard from down the way, but the view was too distracting to notice. Peter looked over at what Jason was doing and saw him frying bacon while checking his communicator.

"Good morning Quill," Gamora said as she walked into the room.

"Hey, how was your night?" Peter asked instinctively. She pulled out the chair next to his and took a seat.

"Good, the bed was surprisingly comfortable. A bit on the colorless side though." Jason did not reply to the comment about his personal color taste, but instead focused on preparing breakfast. Peter sat awaiting at the table, glancing over at Gamora occasionally. Neither of them made eye contact or spoke to each other, but there was a calm understone which seemed to be exhausted with every breath.

"Okay guys, it appears the first round of food is done," Jason said over excitedly. Peter and Gamora both got out of their chairs and hovered over to the counter, where he plopped down pancakes on each of their plates. It seemed surprisingly human, as with most things Jason liked, but he realized that none of his friends really understood human culture. Therefor pancakes would still be new and original to them. Peter pursed his lips in wonder and went back to the table with his food. The plates themselves were indeed white as the walls.

He stabbed his fork into the pancake as he saw Rocket reappear wearing a blaze red outfit and looking more clean than usual. Rocket strode from the dining room and into the kitchen over to get his portion of the food. Peter cut a piece off and brought it up to his mouth as he overheard some talking between Rocket and Jason.

"Morning man, how was your night?" Jason asked. There was a pause and some flipping sounds.

"Oh, you know, just wonderful." A loud popping sound came out of the kitchen as Jason disabled his frying, announcing that he was finished cooking. Peter stabbed a few more pieces that he had cut off of his pancake and shoved them into his mouth. There was nothing like a good old fashioned earth breakfast.

Rocket walked back into his view carrying a plate and a fork. Not wanting to look suspicious, he seated himself across the table from Peter. They shared a very brief period of eye contact before Rocket started tearing his food to shreds and consuming it. Drax at some point had came out from whatever curtain he was hiding behind and seated himself at the table with a plate of food. Jason eventually came over and took the head of the table.

Peter finished the last of his meal and looked over at Rocket. Not noticing anyone's glare on him, Rocket picked up his pancake and began to rip it into shreds with his hands than using a fork. Peter assumed that it didn't feel natural for him to use a fork considering he was a raccoon and had paws. Social Etiquette usually drove him insane, but for this time it didn't bother him.

Rocket looked up and saw Peter. Hand in midair with a pancake in grip, he dropped it on his plate with a loud metallic sound. Everyone looked over at the situation that had presented itself, but quickly went back to their own devices. Peter just smiled at Rocket as he picked his fork back up to continue doing it the right way.

"So, how long do you guys think it will take before we can get this plan in place?" Jason asked, getting everyone back on topic.

"By the end of the day, really. Shouldn't be too hard," Rocket replied with satisfaction.

"Good, Good, I don't think I will have my troops ready by the end of the week though, 5 days at most. You know this will work?" Jason was one clarification, he liked to know that everything was happening the way he thought it was going to happen.

"Yes, they call us the Guardians of the Galaxy with good reason." Rocket replied

"Fair enough. You are all more than welcome to stay here with me, otherwise you could go back to your ship. The only problem with that is I still can't organize Class One Flights. Large security issues with those." Everyone nodded. Peter picked up his plate and put it next to the sink, customary household tradition, he assumed. Not wanting to look silly, but also not wanting to be impatient, he decided to wait in the living room until everyone else had finished their food.

Once Peter had entered, he began to explore the numerous bookshelves that lined the room. He took one of the shelf and brushed some dust off of the old cover. The book cover did not appear to entice reader's eyes. It appeared to be black at first, and Peter ran his hand over the cover again to look at it more closely. The black layer which seemed to be caked on more thickly than the dust wore off to display a title. _The Disparity of Us_ by De'lumi Franci.

Peter looked around the room to make sure that no one else was watching him. His eyes gracefully trailed back to the cover. He opened it up to the first page, showing a branch with leaves on it with the title written in fancy words. He looked down at the date that was written on the front page.

"Published 1963, © Milton House Publishing Enterprise." The book froze in his hands as he realized that this book was decently old. It occurred to him that 1963 was around his time on Earth, but that didn't necessarily mean that it was written there. To be sure, he checked the licensing pages. What he found was truly astonishing. It was published in the United States. California, at that.

He almost shouted in excitement but realized he may be doing more harm than good. Some questions could be drawn from this, as how Jason would have a book from the 1960s from Earth, when they were extremely far away from the planet. Many people did not know much information about Earth, but he knew even less that had actually acquired a book. Peter flipped forward a few pages to the first chapter, and read a few paragraphs.

"What makes friendship such an important thing in our lives? Is it the need to have a support group behind us to consistently tell us we are doing the right thing? Or is it so we can have people to talk to in our time of need? Examining history throughout every culture and religion, relationships are a fundamental part of being who we are. They form alliances, they break apart countries, and they cause war.

My friends are very dear and close to me. At least, that is what I assume from my standpoint, since we really have no idea how they feel about us. Sure, you can ask your friends how they feel about you, but they can easily lie. It seems to be in our genes to lie and say nice things. So then, how do we know if they are truly our friends?

Interactions. From experience, I feel much closely related to friends who wish to partake in my activities and invite me to theirs. It's a good way to get to know someone, as well as keep up with social times. These people are connected to you, they trust you not to judge the kinds of things that they do, and they hope that you will respect that. Next time you silently judge what you're friend is doing, ask them why they like to do that. I'm sure they will appreciate it, as even the dullest of people enjoy to talk about their menial activities. I've worked in the Postal service for 20 years, and let me tell you, it is the most exciting job I've ever had.

So get out there, do stuff with your friends, or you might just be left without help on th next major step of your life."

Just as Peter was finishing the final line of the first page, Rocket walked in the doorway. Peters eyes abstractly gazed upon Rocket's face, to which he looked back at him. Rocket attempted a smile for a short second.

"What are you reading there, Quill?" Peter suddenly realized that he still had the book open in his hands, and was mildly stroking the cover. He attempted to fit the book back into its original slot, but soon realized that the slot had filled in and that the cook would not look right since the cover had been dusted off.

"Ah, it's just something kinda lame." Rocket walked over to the couch and seated himself, resting his head on the back and looking up to the ceiling.

"Man, Jason can really cook some good food. I don't understand why we can't just retire here." Peter slid the book into his jacket pocket, still looking mildly suspicious in his chest pocket, but not nearly as much as holding it. It occurred to him that it might be considered theft to steal the Prime Lord's personal library. Though it was clearly evident that he wasn't actually reading them.

"Well that's because we have work to do, and this isn't really our home." Peter walked over to a chair and took a seat himself, across from his raccoon friend.

"I guess so Quill, speaking of work, what do you think of coming by the ship later to help me work on the broadcaster. I could use a couple of hands." Rocket's offer was quite unusual, but Peter was in no position to decline. Besides, it wasn't like Jason would need him cooped up in his home.

"Yeah, that'll be fine." Rocket looked back at eye level at Peter, and then at Gamora and Drax who were just walking in.

"What are you to conversing about," Gamora inquired with great apathy.

"Oh, you know, guy stuff," Rocket replied sarcastically. Gamora took a seat next to Rocket and Drax sort of awkwardly stood. Peter sat on the front of his seat and ran his hand through his hair.

"I will be adressing some personal business here tonight. I hope neither of you mind if I take Drax with me," Gamora said more of a statement than a question.

"How the heck did you find an assassin job within 24 hours of getting here?" Rocket replied enthusiastically. Peter and Drax kept their heads up and their ears focused.

"It's not an assassin job." Rocker rolled his eyes.

"So then what is it, a manicure?" Gamora sighed and looked at her fingers.

"I have told you previously, I do not like to discuss my personal matters. I do not have to tell you if I do not want to." Gamora looked with slitted eyes at Rocket.

"So then you are getting a manicure," Rocket asked as he had almost confirmed it.

"No, I am not." Rocket let out a chuckle and leaned back in his seat. Gamora just shook her head and Drax wore a look of confusion. Jason appeareds at the corner of the room, his gaze burning into Peter's chest. He grabbed his jacket and pulled it slightly tighter. As if he realized what he was doing, Jason smiled at Peter.

* * *

Peter sat on a city shuttle, taking his time as he flipped through the book that he had stole from Jason. COnsidering the smile that he had received earlier in the day, it almost seemed as if Jason had wanted him to pick up that specific book. As if he knew that somehow it was important. So Peter was determined to finish the book no matter how boring or dull it might actually be. At the time, he was a little bit more concerned about being stabbed than understanding Jason's tones. He said that they couldn't ride shuttles to the Palace because of security reasons, but there was no security flaw to be seen.

Eventually, the shuttle landed at the city shipping port. All there was left was a short gap between him and the Milano. It would be nice to be back aboard his home ship. He couldn't help but feel the book he was carrying with him was radiating some sort of glow. He just felt that everyone somehow knew, but he didn't know how. There were many different types of people in the shipping port, but not many of them were recognizable. Some faces were robotic, others scaly. But they all had a purpose, and there lives were huge and expansive just like his was.

After walking and taking in his surroundings, he was finally at the hangar deck where they had originally landed. The Milano gracefully slept on the landing pad where he had set it down the day prior, still looking as new as the Nova Corps had rebuilt it to be. The stripes which ran down its sides were utterly inspiring, and he took a few moments to let it all in before boarding the magnificent craft.

He paused near the entrance as he heard a rather loud clattering sound from inside, followed by some incoherent ramblings. Apparently Rocket had already turned up and had started working on the broadcast device. Peter ran his hand through his hair and set the book in his pocket down on a spare shelf that was built into the ship. His legs pushed him forward into the common area, where he found Rocket sitting among a mass of wiring and cables, some that he recognized, and others that were likely beyond the slightest comprehension of his brain.

Rocket picked up some wires and an electronic circuit and began to solder them together. Peter smiled and leaned back on the wall, enjoying the time where Rocket had not yet noticed he was in the room. Rocket's hands moved quick as he connected the newly married wires to the larger project, which was just a bundle of wires and electronic parts at this point. His eyes moved back and forth furiously, looking at one component and then the next, ruffling his brow with every decision.

The air smelled of burning metal, and Peter could finally say that he was enjoying his time alone with Rocket. Even if the raccoon had no idea that he was even in the room with him. It wasn't until he reached for a wire that was in Peter's direction that they made eye contact. He set down the components in his hand and looked around the room in exhaustion.

"How long have you been standing there, Quill?" Peter shiftd his weight back on to his feat and tossed his coar on the nearest peice of furniture in sight.

"Only a minute or two. Watching you work is pretty graceful." Peter replied happily. Rocket raised his eye.

"It's not fuckin graceful, stressful as hell!" Rocket replied back, more shouting at the machine he was constructing rather than at Peter. Peter crouched down next to him.

"How about, you tell me what to grab, I'll grab it for you, and then you solder it and work your magic." Peter listened to himself speak the sentence again, and instantly noted not to ever say a sentence with such diction again. Luckily, Rocket did not pick up on the sentence.

"Sounds good. Hand me that purple conduit and the crescent wrench." Peter did as he was asked, and picked up the materials and handed them to his friend.

"So Rocket," Peter started.

"Oh no, here we go again." Rocket began fitting some microchip into place as he spoke.

"Why do you have such a knack for building things?" Rocket continued to work on delicately placing the chip into the correct slot, not ignoring the question, but saving it for an appropriate time to answer. Peter understood the pause, he did not have nearly enough patience to do what Rocket was doing. It felt good to be in the action, rather than staying behind to build the weapons.

"Well" Rocket said as he leaned away from the machine, "I guess it just came to me. Get me the screwdriver and ¾ meter steel sheet." Peter again gave the materials to Rocket, but wanted to inquire further.

"C'mon, there has to be something more to it than that. All great superheroes have a sad backstory. I mean, of course, you did . . ." Rocket just chuckled and starting scoring lines into the piece of metal.

"I am no superhero. Just someone who knows a lot about engineering." Rocket picked up a nearby hand drill and made a few holes in the metal sheet.

"Well, you did basically save all of our lives." Rocket just sighed and began to screw on a metal plate over the machine. It appeared to be the beginning of some sort of chassis, but the entire device was very abstract. But, Peter knew about as much about computers and machines as Rocket knew about social formalities.

"No, I didn't," Rocket replied back.

"Yes, you did," Peter responded hastily.

"No."

Yes."

"I didn't bring you here to argue, Quill!" Peter raised his hands in the air in defeat and watched Rocket work on assembling something.

"Green cables and a wire cutter?" Rocket asked. Peter picked up the parts and put them right next to where Rocket was sitting on the floor. Perhaps Madame Franci was wrong, maybe the same theory did not apply to out of species relationships. Of course, she probably would have had a heart attack knowing that all of this was out there. Rocket suddenly stopped with whatever he was doing was looked down at the ground.

"They gave me tools when I was, you know . . . and I just got good with them." Peter raised his eyebrows as he looked at Rocket's back.

"That would probably explain it then." Rocket picked a few tools sitting next to him up and began to move some other green circuit board into place on the device. It was growing in size, slowly, but steadily.

"It's just that I don't really like to talk about it with other people. I never asked or wanted to be the way I am, it was just a fact of nature for me." Rocket spewed as he clicked a board into place. Peter closed his eyes and thought of his own home for a few moments.

"I can relate," Peter added after thinking.

"Really," Rocket replied in an almost unbelieving tone.

"Yeah, when I was a kid, after my mom died, I was basically taken aboard a ship and kidnapped. I would have preferred to spend my life on Earth. But alas, I ended up here with you." Rocket chuckled a little and made a small noise that signaled agreement. He then picked something up off the floor and handed it to Peter.

"Press that button when I tell you to," Rocket murmered, his voice clouded with thoughts and emotions. "Now." Peter pressed the button and a significant amount of lights turned green on the main unit. "Aha! Well then, all we need is a blowtorch and some pre recordings and this baby should be good to go."

"So break time then?"

"Yes, Quill, break time." Rocket got up and dusted off the the clothes he was wearing. He wandered down the hallway towards the bedrooms and left Peter alone in the commons. He determined if he should try picking up a few of the parts, but assumed that leaving them astray may just be the best course of action. It was nearly everyday that he was tripping over some object on the floor, and he really didn't think it could get much worse.

Peter made his way over the spare parts and into the area that could be defined as a kitchen. It wasn't much, but it was at least something. He ran his hand through his hair as he browsed the cabinets for anything that he could find. It appeared that a majority of the food had gone missing, and the refrigerator was empty as usual.

Rocket came back into the room, face looking cleanly rinsed with no stray dust or oil particles that would normally clog his appearance. He went over to one of the stools that were usually bolted down to the floor to not cause midflight injuries.

"Now what do we do? Probably too late to go back to the Palace, so it's just us two for the night." Peter tapped his fingers on the countertops as an idea came into mind. He was saving it for a special occasion, and this would probably be the last time he would get the chance in a long while.

"I do have one thing . . ." Peter started. Rocket's ears perked up in interest as Peter reached under a cabinet. With some force, he dislocated an object which had been concealed in a remote corner of the cabinetry.

"What the hell Quill! I thought I ran this place completely dry last week." Peter rolled his eyes and set the bottle of whiskey on the countertop.

"Exactly why I was keeping it a secret." Peter knew that Rocket had some strange drinking habits, but had never inquired much further and tended to stay out of his way. He picked out two glasses and set them down next to the bottle.

"Then for what is it that I owe you such a pleasure?" Peter stopped his activity midway and looked at Rocket.

"I don't think I've ever heard you use such a complicated sentence." Rocket glared back at him.

"My vocabulary is larger than you'd think, A hole. But seriously."

"Well, I just think that our relationship has improved more over the last week than in the entirety of all the other times." Rocket smiled back at Peter as he opened the cap and poured two glasses full of the alcoholic beverage. Peter went over to Rocket's side of the bar and took the seat next to him. They raised their glasses in the air.

"To friendship, and to forever," Rocket said emotionally, clinking glasses traditionally and taking a large gulp of the drink. Peter downed a large portion of his before setting it back down as well.

"What do you think Gamora and Drax are up to right now?" Peter asked inquisitively.

"Ha, they are probably getting those manicures together, for all we know," Rocket replied honestly.

"Well, they do appear to have been spending much more time together recently." Peter raised his glass to his lips and took another sip. The feeling of alcohol began to slowly cloud his mind from all rational thought, ebbing away at the reality of the situation. He wasn't sure how it affected Rocket, but it was obvious that there was something he enjoyed about it.

"Are you saying . . . no, no! That would be awful. I spent a lot of time with Drax in the past, and trust me, he doesn't seem like her type." Peter smiled and lightly hit him on the back.

"And how would you know her type?" Rocket looked at Peter in the eyes.

"Judging from how far you two have gotten, I don't think she could hook up with a rock," Rocket said matter of factly. Peter picked up the bottle and poured themselves some more. "You know, maybe she's on a top secret spy mission for the Nova Corps." Peter smiled as he began to notice how interesting colors seemed to look.

"I wouldn't doubt it, if anything I'd believe that." Peter and Rocket sat next to each other, continuing their babble on about Gamora for quite some time. Eventually, they shifted the topic over to Groot, who was beginning to grow into shape to become his old self again. Peter thought it would be great to have Groot fully back on the team, but it may be a slight friendly competition as well.

Nearly an hour had passed, and the evening pursued into the night. Both of them were still barely seated at the bar stools.

"Ya know, I jus' have no idea why Jason is so obsessed over white! It's like, he's some sort of color freak.," Rocket announced drukenly. The air in the room was hot and thick, and the bottle had come to a close. Both Peter and Rocket had barely a drop left in their glasses, though their companionship kept them up and at it.

"I agree man, that suit he gave you was pretty sick though, imagine if he were to give me a white leather jacket," Peter commented/ Rocket slammed his paws on the table and leaned closer to Peter.

"That would be AMAZING! Maybe he could repaint the ship or somethin'." Peter could smell the alcohol in the air, and Rocket had gone from being a single form creature to a cross eyed raccoon. His fur was matted in some places, but for the most part, looked pretty insane to Peter.

"Dude, why are we here? Why aren't we out fighting like aliens or somethin'?" Peter asked confusedly.

"I recall that we're on a job. Though we can take the ship out for a spin." Rocket jumped off of his chair as he suggested it, to which Peter chased after him. The entire world seemed to be doing cartwheels around them. He reached out into the air and felt a tuft of something soft and grabbed on to it. Before he had even comprehended it, Peter had accidentally fallen on top of Rocket. The floor felt very soft.

"No, I'm pretty sure we're drunk." The fluffy object below Peter moved vigourously as trying to escape.

"Get off of me, ya big oaf!" ROcket shouted happily. Peter slid off of Rocket and sort of collapsed onto the floor. Rocket decided that the floor was a pretty good place to spend the next few minutes, so he kept company with Peter. The two of them looked into each others eyes, but before they knew it, had both drifted off to a land of fog and darkness.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! There should still be a few more on the way, but we are beginning to reach a close. Otherwise, this FanFiction would begin to be recognized as a short novel. How do you like the characters? How do you think it will end? Make sure you leave a review and let me know! Thanks!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey guys, I'm still here, and now with Chapter 7! This chapter has a lot to do with everything, and I think was one of my more favorite chapters to write. Theres plenty of explosions later on. I am now starting to think that I embody some of my characters, as I think about how everyone is. Just like some sort of connection to them. Anyway, this is starting to sound strange, just read it!**

* * *

The swirling darkness moved and flowed around Peter as he found himself flying around a perfect black space. It wasn't often that he was able to control some of his dreams, considering that half the time they were just perfectly molded nightmares. Perfect darkness was a rarity that had to be enjoyed, that had to be mastered over time. Just simply closing your eyes wasn't enough, there was still a fuzz. Fuzzy darkness was scary, Perfect darkness was calming.

But alas, Peter began to feel a pulse pounding sensation in his brain, one that he could not shake with all his might. The thoughts of a perfectly dark world escaped him and his eyes fluttered open before him, looking directly into one of the Milano's fluorescent lights. He winced and moaned, before turning his head to the other side.

Rocket was laying incapacitated on the floor next to him, making loud breathing sounds. A few thoughts ran through his mind about what had happened to make them end up on the floor. Maybe someone had broken in and it them both with a baseball bat? But that didn't explain why they were next to each other. Peter groaned as he sat up, and came to the conclusion that they had both gotten wildly drunk during the night and collapsed on the floor.

The situation would have been hysterical had it been someone else he could laugh at, but Peter only had himself to blame. Well, that and Rocket. He checked his watch to find that it was three in the morning. The sun had not yet rose and it was too early for him to stay up until morning. Peter did smile though, as he was glad he was the first one to awake. There was no telling what Rocket would have done. He might as well just left him on the floor. His eyes scanned around, but nothing had changed as far as he could remember.

Putting his hands on the cold metal floor, Peter pushed himself on to his feet. He was left a mild bit unstable, his depth perception and motor skills not having returned back to normal. One leg in front of the other, he made his way over to the commons to get a glass of water. A frivolous attempt was made at opening cabinet door. Eventually Peter just turned on the faucet on the tap and put his face under it. The cold water woke him up, but it was not cold enough to snap him out of a hungover state. A few mouthfuls went down his throat, but came right back out with the contents of his stomach.

Peter could only stand there and listen to himself vomit as he figured out that he had enjoyed spending the time with Rocket. His gaze shifted down the hallway to where Rocket's legs were peeking out. They really hadn't made it far out of the room before collapsing, definetly not one of Rocket's best personal records. Another dry heave came out of his mouth leaving him thirsty and disgusted. He turned the water on full blast, hoping that no one would notice, but knowing all that the smell would get back to him.

Once his stomach had stopped disagreeing with his life decisions, Peter made his way over to the raccoon laying on the floor. He carefully put his arms under Rocket and lifted him to chest level. The bigger question to Peter was where to set him down. He didn't want to disturb Groot, who he assumed was sleeping peacefully in Rocket's bed, but he also didn't want to leave him alone. It wasn't like anyone would end up seeing them together anyway.

Peter's gaze dropped down to Rocket and examined him to make sure that he was okay. He gripped him tighter and smiled. He was going to be just fine. He thought about it for a moment before determining that Rocket could sleep on his bed, and he would just take the couch. Somewhat not fair, but he was doing it for a friend, and that justifies more motives than he originally thought.

His legs guided him down the hall and into his empty room. He had admirably missed the room for the day he had been away, and was glad to be back somewhere he could call home. He moved over to his bed and set Rocket down at the foot of the bed. He then peeled back the covers that were over his mattress. A bit of distress washed over him as he realized that Rocket might ruin his sheets, but he was still willing to take the risk.

Carefully maneuvering his friend, he guided Rocket under the sheets of his bed. He positioned him on his side in case he vomited, though he doubted his knowledge of raccoon anatomy. One thing Peter did know was that if he was awake, he definitely would be arguing and struggling against him. It was nice to have Rocket asleep at times, he was much less stressed out and much easier to move around. Peter shook his head of the weird twist his thoughts had taken him to and headed over to the couch.

It did not take much effort to get asleep, all it really took was to collapse on the couch and close his eyes. He drifted peacefully to sleep, not caring much about what percentage of his body had actually landed on the couch.

Someone was moving around the room while moving quite fast. They seemed to either be in a panic or in a hurry, or maybe both. This was Peter's first indication that Rocket had awoken, so he kept his eyes closed and ears attentive while listening to the sounds.

"Just keep it together man, c'mon, he'll be awake any second." Peter sighed internally as Rocket watched him while pacing back and forth across the room. He wanted to wake at a moment that would not look suspicious, but not too long that it would as well. The dissatisfaction was slowly removed as he heard the footsteps come closer to his face. A light source was not being blocked, his vision gone darker. A fast, wavering breath was not far from him, so close the he could actually smell the rank breath of alcohol and decay. Suddenly he felt a hand grab his shoulder. The hand shook at first, but became more firm.

"Peter," Rocket whispered to him, attempting to coo him out of his already awoken slumber. He made a groaning noise and turned his head a small bit. His eyes fluttered open slowly to reveal a distraught looking Rocket looking back at him in concern.

"What", Peter casually said as yawned away his sleepy hangover.

"What the hell happened last night? And I mean, how did I end up in . . . you know." Rocket uncomfortably glanced away. It was common for him to drink too much and not recall where he had been the previous night. Once Rocket had found himself in the middle of a drug war after not remembering the person he was drinking with was a gang leader.

"Well," Peter started as he chuckled a little bit, "You got seriously wasted." Rocket went back to pacing the room ever so slowly.

"But I mean, did anything else happen?" Rocket inquired almost furiously.

"What are you trying to insinuate?" Peter retorted carefully. In reality, Peter knew what Rocket was afraid of, but he decided it was more interesting to play on his attitude.

"Well, fuck, I don't know how to put it in a common phrase Quill. You'd tell me if I did anything strange, right?" Peter smiled. Rocket looked back, but in no where as casual as Peter was.

"No Rocket, nothing happened. We both drank too much and collapsed on the floor. In the night I took you back to my room and I slept on the couch," Peter recited in a near perfect list. Rocket have a large sigh of relief. "And if you don't mind me asking, why are you so concerned?" The raccoon paused his nervous pacing and sat down on Peter's bed. He was pretty much a mess from the previous day. His clothing had a mild amount of what appeared to be oil stained on them, and his fur was awkwardly matted in places.

"None of your business," Rocket replied in a hushed tone. Peter sat up in the couch, and adjusted his short so it was fitting properly again. He was basically bringing up the elephant in the room and shooting it with a harpoon.

"It is my business. You're my friend, and I need to know how you feel so we don't all get killed." Rocket looked up at Peter, and their eyes made contact. Peter stared into the brownish black eyes and wondered what his thoughts were like. A lot of his history was unknown to him. He knew as much about the laboratory and the experiments, but there was a large gap between them and when they met on Xandar.

"I don't know, it just isn't supposed to be like this. It doesn't feel right." Rocket looked away at the floor again, keeping his body mostly still. Peter sensed that he was going through something emotionally stressful.

"Just because something doesn't feel right doesn't make it wrong. It's up to you to make your own decisions," Peter said almost out of a textbook. Rocket just kept looking down at the floor.

"You think I don't fucking know that?" Rocket responded negatively. "It's just that, all my life, people have taken advantage of me, people have insulted me, but here . . ." His voice began to waver near the end. Peter got up from the couch, a wave of pain rushing over his brain from the hangover, and moved to sit right next to Rocket on his own bed. "And I just don't, I don't want you to not like me." Peter contemplated whether it would be appropriate to put his arm around his friend, or just sit and silently stare in concern.

"We don't care if you are a rambling psychopath or the nicest guy . . . er . . . in the world. Actions are what define you. It's what defines me as well. I don't believe for a moment that you ever wanted to leave our quest to save the galaxy. You might have said you did, but inside, I know you didn't." Peter took the courage the sentence gave him to put his arm around his friend's shoulder. Actions certainly were speaking louder than words, as a few sobs came over Rocket for the third time in a week.

Peter sat in silence, breathing the aroma of something dead while listening to the hum of the generators and Rocket's wailing. If he closed his eyes, he could have swore that he was in this same exact situation nearly 20 years ago, back on earth, not wanting his mother to go. Somewhere deep down he also figured out that everyone needs a figure to rely on for moral support. Rocket, unfortunately, never had anyone's shoulder to lean and cry on all his life. That was until now.

The air suddenly chilled and the personal silence that had been created instantly washed away. Rocket's ears perked up as he heard it as well, removing angst and replacing it with sudden and newfound curiosity. An alarm rang out through the air, as if alerting them to a situation that had slipped past them.

"Do you hear that," Peter asked almost rhetorically. Rocket sniffled a small bit and shook his head in agreement. Together, they got up and moved to the cockpit, where the only emergency broadcasters were located. Alarms could only mean a few things, one of them being fire, another one being a test, or an emergency. Peter had a tremendous feeling that it was the latter. They made their way inside the cockpit, and Rocket quickly took his co-pilot seat. Peter looked around the shelves for his emergency radio, unable to locate the much needed device. Rocket picked up the television remote for the small flatscreen that was installed on the dash and flipped it on.

Somehow, completely beyond Peter or Rocket's imaginations, the television turned on and received a network that was broadcasting from the planet. Peter stopped looking through the shelves and faced towards the television, wondering just how it was able to pick up signals in another quadrant.

A black screen was splashed over the screen, with the words "**CIVIL EMERGENCY**" plastered on the top of the screen. There was a scrolling news feed providing more detailed information. Both of their eyes scanned the screen intently as they read the information presented to them.

"Earlier today, a powerful explosion was witnessed and recorded at the Grand Hall. At this time, no information is known about the whereabout of the Prime Lord, or the cause of the explosion. As a precautionary measure, the Hydroxa Main Shipping Port, the Hydroxa Industrial Shipping Port, the Hydroxa Lesser Shipping Port, and the Hydrax Passenger Port have all been closed at this time. All nonessential vehicles are to be grounded within the next 30 minutes to evaluate security and assist emergency crews. If anymore data is recovered, this message will automatically update."

The voice and words began to repeat with warning tones and an ominous look.

"Do you think Jason is okay?" Rocket asked, breaking his silence.

"It seems the attack must have been aimed at him," Peter replied, not personally knowing if his theory was correct, but had no other reason why not to be. He nervously ran his hand through his hair as if knowing that this would not get any better. Rocket had seized the remote yet again and began to flip through the channels before he could find one the wasn't broadcasting a government Civil Warning.

"Here we are, standing in front of the Grand Hall, which appears to have suffered severe exterior damage." The camera zoomed into the upper floors, where a good 5 or 6 floors had bee completely destroyed on the outside. Smoke billowed out of the side of the building, and they could only watch in awe struck fear. "Near the top part of the blast area was the residence of Prime Lord Jason, who is not currently accounted for. Just moments ago we saw teams of police storming the building, and a few police craft have appeared on the perimeter." The camera zoomed out to show a larger picture of what was going on. A few police craft was an understatement as the sky was crammed full of emergency vehicles. The explosion radius was quite small, only a few floors vertically and only about 60 feet wide. Suddenly, the feed switched back to whatever studio was broadcasting, as all of the disturbing images disappeared.

"This just in, an early estimate of the casualties is around 70, according to new police figures released seconds ago. Apparently a security meeting as being held at the time of the explosions, killing as many as 6 generals of the military." Rocket let out an exasperated breath.

"Holy shit," he said slowly as they released the data. Normally, Rocket loved explosions, but this situation was much, much different.

"We are also now getting reports that Prime Lord Jason is in serious condition and is being treated for 1st degree burns and shrapnel wounds. No word yet on the cause of the explosion. We will keep you updated on this developing story, so stay tuned to KZ76 Hydroxa Live." The news went back to live coverage of the Grand Hall, still billowing smoke with emergency vehicles splayed out like the blood of the disaster.

"Maybe we should contact Gamora and Drax," Peter suggested wisely. Rocket nodded in agreement, but his head was glued to the television screen. "I'll try and contact them." He got up out of his chair and unexpectedly almost fell over due to blood loss in his legs. It usually happened to him when he sat down in an awkward position, or sometimes under great stress. He hoped it was neither.

Stepping out of the room and into the hall, he took a deep breath of the air around him. He had left his communicator in his room in the ordeal of last night and this morning. It was almost scary that Rocket appeared to not have any effects from it. He thought that maybe Rocket's liver had been replaced in surgery with a blood cleaning machine as he walked into his room. The communicator was lying on his nightstand, probably where he had put it previously. He picked it up, and turned the dial to the frequency that his team was set to.

"This is Peter, please respond," He spoke quickly before moving the communicator away from his lips. It crackled in with another audio feed, and he slowly tuned it to the correct power level to receive a better signal. Very soon, the opposite end was clear.

"This is Gamora, I am receiving your message," the radio shouted at him. He sighed in relief, knowing that at least two of his friends were at least safe.

"Where's Drax?" A short pause followed his question, but the radio came back on in a few seconds.

"He's with me, we're both fine. Is Rocket okay?" Peter smiled at the wall blankly as he recalled the events of the previous night and this morning. He didn't want to make it sound blatantly suspicious, but not lie either.

"Rocket is fine as usual, currently glued to the news feed." Just as he finished his sentence, he swore that the ship had gently shook. From experience, he knew that it usually didn't do that, especially on a shipping platform like the one they were on. The Nova Corps had put in top notch suspension on the landing gear.

"What is our current concern with the situation at hand?" Peter inquired softly. Peter began to make his way out of his room, heading back to the cockpit.

"I am mostly concerned about if this will press back our operation." Peter nodded in his head, moving down the corridor.

"As soon as-" The communicator shot out of his hands as the ship violently lurched in one direction. Peter, unstable from his hangover, collapsed onto the floor in a lack of motor control.

"Peter! Get your ass in here!" Peter got back on his feet and ran down the remainder of the hallway into the cockpit. On the television, they had switched to a view of the shipping port, only it did not appear as it normally would. Rocket was panicked, setting controls with his hands on the dashboard, as Peter watched the situation unfold. Smoke was now billowing out from the side of the facility, another bombing had occurred. But why the shipping port?

Peter's attention was drawn out the main viewport as a red explosion filled the air some 300 feet down the port. They were along the top deck, which was exposed to any outside elements. The television also lit up in a fury of colors, and Rocket's panic suddenly became evident. He nearly lunged into his seat before he began running a preflight checklist.

Rocket had been able to prep the weapons and the fuel lines in the short amount of time he had, completing a 15 minute job in about 1. Just as Peter ignited the main engines, another craft appeared out of the smoke and debris from the previous explosion. The ship was marked in green and yellow colors, and was heading straight for the Milano.

"We're getting tracking signatures! They are targeting our engines!" Rocket shouted out loud, to no one in particular. Peter opened up the throttle and the engines strained as he gave them their all. Fuel flowed right into them, and they burst into a jet of directed flames which lifted them off of the ground.

"Incoming missile!" Rocket shouted as he was subconsciously pressing the chaff button. They watched in near slow motion as the missile flew right past their ship and exploded about 50 feet behind them.

"This is Peter Quill of the Milano, we are under attack from an unidentified ship!" He left the message to broadcast on all channels, so anyone who could provide assistance could help them.

The ship they were facing was superior in many respects, but the art of war was to find the flaws in your enemy and use them to your advantage. As far as he could tell, the engines were dual thrusters that looked a bit dated from the craft. It seemed to fit in with the common day craft of the planet, which was peculiarly strange considering terrorists didn't generally use common vehicles. It was as if it was built right here, and a domestic person was attacking.

With such heavy armor and weaponry, Peter concluded it would have to be someone in the planetary defense who wanted them gone. Only that left open a huge amount of possibilities. There wasn't just a small group of people that knew they were there, almost everyone did.

"Rocket, lock missiles onto their rocket systems." Rocket began to furiously program something into the console, while Peter attempted to get himself into a more maneuverable position. THeir attacker had retreated slightly into the smoke of the now burning and collapsing platform. Peter guided The Milano with ease, and waited for the right moment to attack.

"I hope you know what you're doing Quill!" Rocket shouted as manned the side turrets. "I've rigged the rest of the missiles onto your macro board, just give the word when to open fire." Peter nodded and fixed his eyes upon the enemy missile system. The two crafts stared at each other until a blinking light grew into a siren aboard the ship. They were being targeted again. The face off. Peter engaged his targeting system and the flashing indicators of an overly complex system alerted him that the chance of damage on the enemy ship was minimal to none.

Missile systems of the century were comparably advanced to earlier models. They had large shields which momentarily slid out of the way in order for a missile barrage to leave the barrel. Then they would close and the system would reload in an efficient manner. But, if you knew what you were doing, the system could be exploited. Peter watched in near slow motion as the mechanism on the opposing missile chamber began to slide open. He pressed the key on his macro board, and his own missiles shot out at a much faster rate, as their own shield had been jerry rigged open.

The missiles flew down range at the enemy ship, it's gold stripes menacingly fearful of the next events. It's own missiles slid out of the bay, but before the door even had a chance to close, the Milano's struck right in the bay, detonating the extras that were in the loading bay. The ship's missile systems exploded in a dazzling array of vivid colours, and it temporarily spun out of control as it was thrown off kilter.

"Now!" Peter yelled at Rocket as he pulled the ship to the side as hard as he could. Rocket let a burst of autocannon fire out of Milano and towards the oncoming missiles, one of which exploded in a dark red conflagration. The other one sped down course towards its target, eerily screeching at Peter. He pulled the ship aside a bit too far, and stability controls lost out over crazy steering. The cabinet doors and it's contents locked themselves into place as the ship reached over a 90 degree angle and proceeded to completely flip over onto it's back.

The missiles flew past the Milano, and began to round back, as the Milano flipped over again in it's natural upright position. Rocket let go of the metal bar that he had held on to while the ship had temporarily flipped upside down. He took a moment to look at Peter in admiration for his flying ability, something he assumed he would never be able to do. Peter briefly looked back at him, and their eyes met once again, a moment of understanding between the two. He didn't want to break the gaze, but understood that there was a missile coming around to blow them to hell.

Peter Stabilized them as Rocket unleashed another round of autocannon fire on the unprepared missile. It also exploded as a bullet grazed it's computer system, initiating auto destruct procedure. After the threat was neutralized, both went back to their main concern, the unidentified ship. It lay in shambles from the unexpected blast, billowing smoke from it's lower compartments, though the engines still ran strong. Peter doubted the capabilities of its weapon system, but underestimation generally never worked.

"This is Peter Quill of the Milano, please land your craft or we will be forced to ground you." He had opened the message to all comms channels, knowing all well that they could hear him. In response, the ship began to pull back immediately, raising it's altitude quickly.

"I guess they don't wanna stick around." Rocket said as he armed the autocannons again.

"Take em' down" Peter replied in an almost evil tone. Rocket unleashed a steady stream of bullets into their shielding system, which repelled a good majority of the blasts. As their altitude increased, their engine system became shakier, until one of the bullets punctured a crucial hydraulics chamber. The ship spun out of control and plummeted back to the planet in a freefall. Peter bit his lip as he wondered whether they valued their life mroe than their secrets.

Life eventually won out as they stabilized and hit the ground at an uncomfortable speed. Liquid spewed out from the wrecked ship and started on fire, adding to the burning scene of industrial freight and cargo ships that had once served as a shipping port. The Milano slowly set down next to the wreckage, Peter not knowing it's pilot or their intent. He was sure that they had good reason for committing such an atrocity.

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**Well, what did you think? Make sure you leave reviews on the new chapters so I know what I'm doing right and wrong. Who do you think was inside the enemy craft!? I am always hopeful that I can write another one soon, but no promises. Definitely by the end of the week. So I'll reveal the cliffhanger then, see ya!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Welcome back to another chapter of TBAL! This is getting to be one long story, almost enough to actually be considered a novel. I believe next chapter it actually does. So yay? I had a blast writing this one, a few Holst and Tchaikovsky fueled writing binges at night really made this stick into my memory. I keep saying I'm going to wrap it up, because I need the story to have closure, but I dread the end because then I no longer have something to write about. And I really enjoy your comments, I read every single one and take it to heart. Let's hope it ends well for our characters though. Oh yeah, stop reading my banter here! Enjoy this chapter!**

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Rocket's paw unsteadily stepped on to the floor of the now collapsing landing bay that had once been probably the largest shipping port in the known universe. Thick smoke clouded the air, and flames licked up through holes in the floor and in the walls and dividers that were strewn about. Cargo containers were shredded open, their contents on the floor in a burning heap. Closest to the ship, a shipment of what seemed to be golf balls had spilled out on to the deck and had begun to melt.

He did not flinch as he finally put both paws on the ground as they were firmly clothed in leather and rubber shoes. Peter stepped out next to him, and there was a slight moment of hesitation before they started to make their way over to the burning wreckage. Distant explosions and emergency vehicles could be heard, but none of their brilliant colors could be seen. The sky appeared as dark yellow through the smoke as a smokey fog set it's place in over the city.

They were about half way across the platform when a loud crack echoed throughout the air.

"Watch Out!" Rocket yelled in surprise. Peter shielded his eyes and ears with his arm as a container exploded into multiple conflagratory shards. They thudded down back down with a loud thump before settling into a pile of what appeared to be burning cotton. They exchanged a panicked look before hurriedly making their way over to the wreckage.

Before they were able to consider opening the door itself, it opened for them. Smoke billowed out and a loud klaxon wailed from inside. Peter made his way in first with weapons drawn, prepared to take out any threats with ease. It was not that he didn't think Rocket couldn't handle it, but he did not want to risk his friends situation over a matter like this. It would be highly unfortunate and unforgivable.

Once inside, stray wires and panels hung from surfaces like some sort of destroyed supercomputer. There were a few hallways, or could probably be more accurately defined as crawlspaces, that they could use to find their way to the control room. Some circuits in a corned sparked, scaring Rocket momentarily. He settled down as he realized it was just an irrational fear. Peter could just not figure out who could live in a craft like this. There was a total disregard to pleasures such as doors and walkways. He came to the conclusion that a computer itself probably lived here.

As they walked down the corridor, a sickly realization came to his head that there were no passengers aboard the ship. That it was indeed controlled by a computer, that an AI was running it. He stopped in his place and gave a hand gesture to Rocket to hold up. He took a few steps more and peered into what was the first actual room.

"Ahahahahaha!" The hair on both of their necks rose as a laugh ricocheted off the walls and landed on their ears. It had sounded real. Rocket pushed his back against the wall and looked both ways down the empty corridor, as Peter had continued on into the room. He drew his breaths sharply while his heart rate increased exponentially.

Peter looked around the room, not seeing anything useful in particular. There just appeared to be a table and a temporary cot, as if the resident did not plan on staying very long. On the table lay a badge of some sorts. He picked it up inquisitively and scanned the object. 3 stars, captain in the Personal Guard. He thought of any of the guards they had previously met, and an understanding of who had done this came to mind. But why? Why would someone want to do something so negative. Peter turned to exit the corridor while noticing that he could no longer hear Rocket breathing in the hall. Adrenaline rushed through his system as he flipped the safety on his gun, approaching the corner with ease.

He rounded it in a quick succession to see Captain Jamoral holding Rocket by his neck against the wall, choking him. Just as Jamoral turned his head to face Peter, a shot from his energy weapon was already flying through the air. Even though Jamoral was half computer, he had no time at all to react to the unfolding situation. The laser beam penetrated the mechanical portion of his brain, and it exploded into a combination of circuits and wires that landed across the room. Jamoral stood for about a second longer, before collapsing to the ground and lying limply.

Peter rushed over to Rocket's side. He crouched on the floor and held his hands over Rocket's body for a few moments in confusion and panic. He shrugged it off and put one of his hands behind his head and another on his chest. Rocket was breathing, but appeared to have been knocked unconscious due to asphyxiation. Hopefully it wouldn't damage any of his brain cells, otherwise Peter would have a good mess on his hands.

On the other end of the corridor, flames were beginning to lick up the side of the wall. An acrid scent of burning rubber was evident, most likely the computer core melting. Peter's eyes glanced around the hall, looking for any evidence of what this ship even was. Why was Jamoral basically flying a massive computer, and even more puzzling was where he would have gotten such a ship.

There was no more time left to look around, and either they left or got burned into crispy chicken strips. He crouched down next to Rocket and slid his arms under him. Peter swore that Rocket at least gained a few pounds from the last time that he had picked him up, which, unsurprisingly, had been the previous day. He maneuvered his legs around the mess of wires on the floor as the temperature in the room increased. The exit was in sight, but there appeared to be more flames out that way.

He stepped out into the open, Rocket in arms, to discover that nearly the entire deck had erupted into flames and was beginning to collapse to an unrecognizable extent. Not caring about his own safety and ethics, he made a mad dash back to the Milano. The paint on the outside was beginning to turn a dark brown color from the heat. Once inside, the on board air conditioners assisted in his efforts to cool himself. Rocket was still breathing steadily, each breath encouraging Peter to continue his effort to constantly save everyone.

He didn't have time to drop him off in the Medbay or his room, so he instead took him to the cockpit with him. Peter securely fastened him into his seat with the harness and sat in his own. The engines roared to life and started giving off emergency messages as they were exceeding their heat capacity by idling. A dreadfully painful noise screeched into Peter's ears as their back landing gear began to crush through the malleable platform. The engines complained and groaned, but with enough manual override, began to lift them into the air above the burning wreckage. A thick cloud of smoke obscured all vision above the shipping port, so the Milano cruised until it had reached an area outside of it. It wasn't until they had exited the Shipping port that they saw just how extensive the attack had been. The entire shipping port was up in flames, emergency vehicles dropping loads of water in a failing attempt to cool it. Buildings that were around the port had also suffered from severe damage, as some were either on fire or had suffered from an explosive shockwave.

Recalling the code that had been broadcasted earlier, he set the Milano down on the closes public landing pad he could find. The one they were on appeared to be part of an apartment complex. As the landing gear locked into place, Peter contemplated whether he should check the exterior of the ship for damages, or go and find the radio that had been dropped on the floor a decent while ago. Eventually, his urge to tell stories to people led him to searching for the radio.

Peter walked into the hallway, expecting it to be destroyed in about 300 pieces on the floor. Instead, the back of the radio had come off and was reattached by a firm press into place. He wiggled the dial until static erupted out of the speakers, and then switched to the channel which his team was on. The frequency eventually stabilized into a light hum, and he held it up to his face.

"This is Peter, please report in." He tossed the radio in the air and caught it with one hand before moving down the hall back towards the cockpit.

"This is Gamora, where have you been?"

"It's a long story, but I believe that I may know who was assisting in the operation." Peter entered back into the cockpit, the shipping port still visible in the distance. His eyes trailed around the room until they landed on Rocket. He was still breathing steadily, but there was no clear indication of whether he was okay or not. His head was rolled to the side, and his entire body was slumped over in the specially designed harness.

"We think that Jason is going to be okay. Turns out he just suffered some minor injuries, so we should be back up on the project with haste," Gamora said after a pause. Peter sat in his chair and faced his raccoon friend.

"I'm not sure if Rocket's going to be okay. I'm heading to your location immediately." Peter swiveled his chair to face the front and reignited the cooling engines. It was clearly against emergency protocol to be flying in a situation such as this, but he had an emergency of his own to tend to.

"What do you mean? What happened to him?" For a short while, Peter did not say or think anything. Instead he enjoyed possibly one of the most strangely peaceful moments in his life. Behind him, the Shipping port burned in a beautiful color, the sky was devoid of all ships, Rocket was beside him, and everyone was currently alive.

"Peter, what happened to him?" The tone was more demanding this time, drawing him away from his peace. He swerved the ship to the left as he directed himself towards the flashing indicator of Drax and Gamora's position.

"Peter." The voice crushed the last resistance he had, and the realization set in that the situation was entirely his fault.

"It was my fault," Peter began.

"Peter, don't-"

"No, this was my fault," He interjected. "We were in a ship, and I went around the corner, and the next thing I know Jamoral was choking him to death. I shouldn't have left him alone." Guilt rode through his system, and he began to wonder why he had not considered this more of an emergency when they first boarded the ship again. Why did he stop for the radio? Would it make a difference?

"How is he doing?" Peter spared a glance over at Rocket, but could not bear to for very long.

"Breathing. Unconscious but breathing." There wasn't very far to go until they arrived. Just a few more blocks of the city left.

"Peter, you cannot be reliable for the actions of everyone else. Rocket would agree that he definitely had the situation under control." Peter couldn't help but let out a nervous laugh. He approached the landing pad of the emergency unit and landed swiftly. Most of the pads were filled up due to the grounding order, and he hoped that it would not affect the flow of emergency traffic.

Peter leaned over and slid his arms under Rocket, whose head fell back as he was raised into the air. He maneuvered himself down the hallway and to the exit, where he quickly snuck his book into his pocket before stepping out on to the platform. His hands tightly gripped the nylon coated work suit his friend was wearing, determined that he would live at all costs. There was a simple illuminated path to the emergency area, which seemed to be forever away.

Once inside, he noticed the nurse at the reception desk patiently typing on her computer.

"Excuse me, I need a stretcher. He was being suffocated and fainted." The nurse looked up at him, almost surprised, and signaled some other people in the room to go fetch one.

"Name of patient?" The receptionist asked with great calmness.

"Rocket . . . uh . . . He just goes by Rocket." The nurse looked up at him for a moment before continuing writing on a sheet of paper that had appeared from some desk drawer.

"We have no records of a patient under this name. Do you know any additional information about him?" The stretcher and two men appeared by his side. He crouched slightly and gently lay Rocket down, not wanting to hurt him more than he had already.

"Well, he gets extremely temperamental while awake. Questionable mental state at times. Cybernetic implants in his back which have been causing him a serious amount of pain. Good with spare parts, makes jokes in serious situations." The nurse put her hand up and continued to write information down on pamphlet.

"Does Rocket have any known allergies to any medication or foods?" Peter shook his head. "Please wait here, I may need your assistance." A ball dropped in Peter's stomach. What did they need him further for? The receptionist got up out of her chair and disappeared into the back. Peter cast his eyes around the room, picking out all of the patients from their aids, and seeing just what people considered an emergency.

A man had a hook through his entire finger, with a dribble of blood running down his hand and arm. The man's partner did not even seem to care, as if it was entirely normal. Another woman was sitting at a chair motionless. Peter almost went over to ask her if she was okay, but if she had died waiting for treatment, he definitely did not want to catch a disease if she had one. The lady returned back to the counter, carrying a clipboard with a document and pen on it.

"What is your relationship with the patient?" Peter raised his eyebrows, but answered the question.

"Good friends." The lady nodded.

"I assumed as much. Do you know if he has an important person in his life, such as a wife, partner, parents, siblings, children?" The more he thought about it, the worse it seemed Rocket's life actually was. In a hospital, with no family, and no one who would be inclined to visit.

"No, he has no family." The woman nodded.

"Anyone even remotely important?"

"No, I honestly think I'm the closest thing he has to a friend." Peter ignored the fact that Rocket had spent so much time with Groot. Obviously Groot was not old enough to manage the well being of his friend, even though he seriously considered it.

"Well then, would you like to be the official caregiver? We would need you to stay due to the mental instability you told us about. It would not be the first time a patient ran out of here attempting to escape this place like a mental asylum." The nurse looked distantly behind him as she finished her statement, as if remembering a past event that affected her greatly.

"That would be fine." The nurse handed him the clipboard that she had been frivolously been handling the last few moments. Peter's sweaty hand grabbed on to the wooden board, the papers on it over a centimeters thick.

"Most of that is just legal hubub, basically says you are responsible for his life. Simply sign on the last page unless you want a lawyer to read it." Peter had a feeling in the back of his mind that the only reason the form was this long was because no one would take the time to read it in an emergency situation. But he would fall into the trap with everyone else, since a stupid document was not going to prevent him from seeing Rocket. He gripped the pen and scribbled his signature on the back of the last page.

The nurse accepted the clipboard back, and then handed him a badge. There was the universal medical symbol on it, as well as his name, the patient name, and the room number. Peter frowned as he had no idea when the administrators had time to print this, and why they printed it off not even knowing if he was going to sign the contract. The administrator pointed to a set of doors for him to go down. He shrugged off the strange feeling and headed over to the medical doors leading to the patient rooms.

His badge read room 206-B, which would either be really simple or insanely complicated to find. The hallway was packed full of medical equipment, from respirators to giant machines with tubes that looked like a murderous vacuum cleaner. People of all type were in the rooms, some watching television, others talking with their families, and some simply sleeping, or worse, dead. The rooms he was passing by were descending from 250, so he automatically assumed that Rocket would be found at the end of the hallway. As his legs moved him down the hallway, he wondered how he would explain what had happened. He knew, but refused to believe, that Rocket would forgive him for his mistake. People made mistakes all the time.

As the numbers neared 210, a small bit of dread began to pool in him as he realized he may not recover at all and could be unable to ever speak again. It was highly unlikely but surreal and possible. He ran his hand through his hair and took a fresh gulp of air. His ears rung and for the first time in a long time he felt like he was confident to face his fears. The room 206-B appeared on his right, the door slightly open and a light spilling out into the well lit hallway. He stood there, as if unable to move any further by the compelling force of the Galaxy, as if this one task of entering the room was more difficult than saving everything in the universe. He was ready, but scared.

"Excuse me," A man wearing a white coat with dark glasses said to him as he moved around Peter. Peter instinctively moved over to the side, letting him pass. The doctor did not leave before noticing the fact he was staring at the room the past few moments. "The good thing," the doctor started while walking backwards, "is that they are alive and in the best place they could possibly be. Good luck." Peter was mildly dumbfounded at the advice, and courageously walked into the room as a testament to prove the doctor was right and prove to himself that he was didn't do anything he couldn't have done. The smell of disinfectants entered his nose, before the familiar smell of his friend became stronger. Rocket lie on the bed, breathing, in a gown. There was an oxygen tube around his face, and a good deal of monitoring hardware on his chest.

Peter took the chair to Rocket's right, taking time to thoroughly look him over. Rocket had all of the features that a regular raccoon would have, legs, paws, snout, eyes, fur. But he noticed the human physical characteristics that made him up as well. Cybernetics, apparently modified eyes and ears, and an enhanced skeletal structure. But that wasn't what made a person who they were. Rocket wasn't just a skeleton made up of mixed and mashed parts, he was an entity, a living thing. He had thoughts and ideas, he had joy and he had sorrow. But most of all, he had friendship. And he would never do anything to make that quality disappear.

A single tear ran down Peter's face as he came to terms with the world. It wasn't fair, not one bit, but it was entirely real. Rocket's breathing was steady and quick, filling the silence of the room with beeping of his heart and his raspy breaths. Peter sat back in his chair, suddenly longing for the past times. To think only a week earlier they were out on a planet with an injured leg and helping each other along. And not too long after that, he was viciously attacked by him. Peter ran his hand over his face, realizing the light scars he had obtained from the claws. It was part of him now, a permanent reminder of him.

Another doctor dressed in white, this time with no glasses, entered into the room. He smiled at Peter and moved to the left side of the bed. Peter quickly removed any evidence that he had been saddened and stood up to mutually greet him with his eyes.

"I assume you are Pertan Quill?" The doctor spoke it so out of correct that it would have been hysterical, had they not been in the room they were in now.

"Peter, Peter Quill." The doctor made a quick erase with his pencil and scribbled something else hardly legible in its place.

"That makes more sense, didn't quite have that ring to it. Anyway I'm Dr. Nie, and I will be addressing the issues that have arose surrounding Mr. Rocket." The technicality in his voice was enjoyable, mainly because it was used in such a way that made the situation sound entirely out of context. Peter smiled and nodded his head, but couldn't quite bear to tell him that that patient would hate being called Mr. Rocket. "I see here from the report that he was strangulated until he became unconscious. It's a good thing you brought him in so fast, the blockage in his throat likely would have killed him given another 20 or so minutes." Peter's brow furrowed as he puzzled what possibly could have been lodged in his throat.

"A blockage?" Dr. Nie gave him a peculiar look, but pulled a plastic bag out of his back pocket.

"I thought you would have known about a blockage Mr. Quill?" Peter suddenly turned on the defensive, ready to prove his innocence.

"I turned away for a moment and the next thing I know he being strangled to death. I freed him and got him hear. That's what matters, right?" Dr. Nie gave Peter a curious glance in both eyes before handing the him the bag. There was some type of electronic component inside, almost resembling a minidisk that were widely used in computers. But it did not make much sense why this would have been lodged in his throat. Either it was already there before, or Jamoral put it there shortly before her death.

Peter grabbed it firmly and took a seat again. He hadn't brought anything with him, besides his book, so he had no where to really put it. The bag sat between his hands, warm and comforting, as if almost protecting. Peter looked up at the doctor, who was still taking scribbling things down on his notepad after looking at a computer or a beeping machine.

"So, your friend has a pretty good prognosis. We believe that since his heart rate and brain function appear to be normal, no major harm was done to his brain. I wouldn't rule out the occasional lost memory or amnesia from time to time. His throat took a good deal of damage from the obstruction, but theres nothing much we can do about it besides give him pain medication." The doctor set down his clipboard and took a vial out of his pocket. Peter watched with grace as he looked into its greenish tint and tapped it with his finger.

"This, is adrenaline. Should definitely wake him up, with interesting side effects." Peter's eyebrow raised slightly.

"Side effects such as?" Dr. Nie took out a syringe like device and loaded the adrenaline vial into it's slot.

"It makes some people really hyper, some kind of lose it for a few moments, and occasionally some die when the dosing is incorrect. Good thing for you is that he is quite small and has a very strong heart. No need for a large dosage. You want to stand over here in case he attempts anything?" Peter accepted the fact that every decision had its side effects, and got up out of his chair. He twisted around to set the bag on the chair before moving to his bedside. Dr. Nie inserted the syringe into the tube that was running out of Rocket's arm.

At first, there was nothing but the twitch of a few whiskers and sneering of his lips. Only a few moments later and Rocket's eyes surged open with panic and fear. THe air became still as no one moved for a moment, and then Rocket attempted to leap out of the bed. Peter's strong arms moved as fast as they could to keep him in place, planting him back by the shoulders. Rocket's shorter arms attempted to claw at him.

"Rocket, it's me! Peter! Calm down!" Rocket paused for but a moment but continued the pursuit of his friend. Dr. Nie had stepped back a few feet towards the door, not wanting to partake in a situation that was obviously beyond him.

Rocket's mind ran through thoughts of torture and pain, the white rooms, the white coats, and their lies. His eyes then focused on the lumbering oaf that was holding him down, a surprisingly recognizable figure among faces, but simply accepted the fact that he was working with the white coats. There was a tube in his wrist which he moved to claw out with much agony and burning. THe man over him grabbed his arm to prevent him from furthering the damage he was inflicting upon himself.

Animalistically, he let out a hiss that Peter had not ever heard before and scared the living daylights out of him. Peter's face turned pale, while Rocket attempted to wriggle his way out of the humanic bonds that had entangled him.

"Rocket! It's me Peter! Stop! Stop!" The voice began to register in Rocket's head, but the word he was looking for did not come to mind immediately. He kicked his legs up into the air attempting a kick at the person's side. The attempt did not work and the person just frowned at him. But the feeling that had come over him began to weaken and his breathing quickened, revealing the pain he felt in his throats.

"Implants," Rocket hoarsely spoke." Peter shot Dr. Nie a glance, to which he raised his arms and pointed to the obstruction that had come out.

"Rocket, it was an obstruction. You weren't breathing." Rocket looked into the person's eyes as the words slowly deciphered into an understandable message. Obstruction. Something that is blocking something else from occurring. Colors came into focus, and the world came into view once more. He looked deep into the persons face and knew that he was human, knew that he was a friend. A friend would never make him do something against his will. So therefor he was doing something wrong.

Peter swallowed and hoped for dear life that Rocke would come to terms with the situation and understand where he was. Dr. Nie was almost considering getting a security guard when the situation began to calm down. Peter sigh as he felt Rocket's muscles relax against his grip. He uncomfortably stood in a position over his bed while Rocket looked confusedly into his eyes. In fact, he looked away when the situation became too much to bear.

"Peter," Rocket's voice rasped warily. Peter almost cried on the spot, but wanted to maintain his complexion in front of his friend and the doctor. INstead, he released Rocket's arms, who gladly accepted his freedom. Rocket rubbed his wrist where he had clawed at the IV, and the doctor walked forward to have a look himself. Upon noticing the white coated man approach him, he jumped back in his bed and let out a startled growl. The doctor, afraid, stepped back once more, not wanting to be attacked by the occasionally vicious creature.

"Rocket, Rocket!" Peter cooed as he leant down over the bed again. "It's okay, he's just looking at your arm to make sure you didn't hurt yourself." Rocket sneered and looked back at Dr. Nie in fear and hatred.

"No, experiment," were the only words he could get out without too much pain. Peter understood why he was going through this. His own recollection of the events that he had been told about a few days prior still rung in his head, fear and terror plunging them both into a darker state of mind. But Peter would not let these thoughts change Rocket's perception of reality in the present time.

"Rocket, just look at me, okay? Just hold out your arm and focus on me." Rocket looked down at first, not wanting to look into the face of his friend. In all honesty, Rocket was embarrassed over the situation as much as Peter was, though he was still very distrustful of doctors. e held out his right arm and his gaze eventually met Peter's as he reclined into the bed. He couldn't help but flinch when Dr. Nie grabbed his arm, but held it out while his lips grew into a snarl.

"It's okay, we're just gonna get you some pain medication, and you'll be up and around before you know it." Peter said reassuringly. Rocket nodded as the doctor investigated his arm, but determined that everything was still properly functioning as it was before. He gently rest his arm next to him on the bed.

"We're going to give you morphine, 10 mg daily. Should ease up with the pain. As far as treatment goes," the doctor continued, "as long as you show no major signs within the next 24 hours you should be out of here." Dr. Nie smiled to the best of his ability before preparing a secondary vial into his syringe.

Peter watched as Rocket closed his eyes tightly and pressed back against the pillows on his bed. Dr. Nie inserted the syringe into the tube feeding into his arm and emptied the entire vial. He then proceeded to walk next to the door and look back at the two of them.

"Press the red button on the remote if you need assistance." Peter nodded and the doctor left the room. He looked back over at Rocket to notice him relaxing further. His shoulders relaxed, his face serenely still, and his body slumped into the bed in a sedated state.

Peter pulled out his book and opened to the most recent chapter. The book brought brought him many memories from home, as well as an insight into the minds of the people around him. It was amazing that the minds of the earlier decades still reflected the same thoughts and emotions that dictated them today. His eyes scanned the lines of text, certain quotes getting stuck in his mind, and he paused to look at Rocket.

"Oh Rocket, why do we insist on making life so complex?" The question he had asked was mostly rhetorical, and the raccoon did not even notice he had spoken. In fact, he was furiously asleep, calmly inflamed with the spazzing dosage of morphine. Peter looked down and continued to read his book.

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**So what did you guys think? Like it? Love it? AMAZING IT? I mean you don't have to enjoy the story . . . if you don't want to be my friend. Nah, just kidding, but make sure you leave some honest reviews of what you thought about this. After this raps up, I'm planning on trying out writing an actual novel, even if it sucks as much as this FanFic does. Then I will have total control of my characters and won't feel like everyone is missing some huge part of the exposition (because if you haven't seen GOTG, then I assume you have no idea what's happening). Enjoy your day and see you in about a week!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Whew! Let me just say that it has been a pleasure to be writing this story for all of you. I have learned so much from this experience, and it only gets more challenging and rewarding as I press on. This story is approximately just a few thousands words short of being the length of Fahrenheit 451, so if you have read everything up to this point, you could have spent about an equal amount of time reading one of my favorite books. This chapter mainly focuses on the development of Rocket's changing character as he becomes more open to Peter. Other characters such as Gamora and Drax are left out making this the odd chapter. There is an immense amount of foreshadowing included within the text, so if you are a literary genius, you should be able to figure out the cliff hanger. Anyway, enough of the babbling, let the story continue!**

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Rocket groggily awoke from his slumber, his throat feeling rather numb, and his stomach was quite ill. It was interesting to attempt and recall memories. Every time that he thought he had a grip on it, the situation floated away and he was sent spiraling back towards the beginning.

His eyelids slipped open and quickly closed as the light overtook them. More carefully, they impertinently opened upon the population of the room. People focused into view, first Peter, who was sitting at a chair next to him on his left, then Gamora and Drax who were arguing at the foot of the bed. A doctor was taking readings from beside him, scribbling words on to a paper with his pencil while erasing to correct mistakes.

As far as Rocket could tell, all of his limbs were in working condition, and could successfully answer two plus two. His eyes fluttered open further and he blinked once or twice. Peter somehow immediately noticed the change, and looked up from his book as if he wasn't sure he was seeing what he was.

"I think he's awake," he announced softly. Gamora and Drax came to a silence, and the doctor cautiously took a step back. "How are you feeling?" Rocket opened his mouth to speak, but found the words he used did not sound like they should have.

"Nuh gud." Peter raised his eyebrows and looked at the doctor, who stared back for a short while.

"Well then, we better just have you answer with nods." Rocket slowly moved his head up and down in agreement. "Okay, sorry to question you shortly after waking you up, but you have been asleep for almost a day. Must be the drugs they put you on. Does your throat feel different?" Rocket nodded in honest agreement. He wasn't necessarily in pain, but it wasn't a pleasing feeling either.

"Do you feel injured anywhere else?" He shook his head and stretched his arms sluggishly.

"Do you remember what happened?" Rocket lay on his bed for awhile, just attempting to contemplate what had put him here, but it wasn't exactly clear. His head felt fuzzy, but it was better than having to contemplate what was going on. But this was important. Peter was asking him the question, everyone else in the room secretly awaiting his answer.

Peter stared uncomfortably at Rocket, who had suddenly started to look up at the ceiling in utter calmness as his heart rate slowed. Gamora shot him a concerned look, to which he mostly ignored. There was no need for panic in such a situation, especially after what everyone had just gone through. As if he had suddenly emerged from water, Rocket almost lurched forward into his bed while making scribbling motions with his paws.

"Someone have a pencil and paper?" Peter asked in a mildly discerning tone. Everyone in the room looked around them and searched their personal belongings. The doctor was able to produce a notepad and a pencil from his bag and handed it to Rocket with ease. There was a short moment of tension as the two of them had made eye contact, but he backed off quickly.

Peter sat back in his chair and drank in the cool, chemical filled air that was circulating the building. His eyes glanced all around the room at the faces which were observing Rocket. Gamora seemed genuinely concerned. Drax appeared to be unaffected. The doctor looked slightly intimidated from his encounter. Then, his eyes finally settled on Rocket's hands as they scribbled down word after word as if writing his final epitaph.

Rocket set the pencil down and read over what he had written. When it passed the inspection, it was held up for everyone else to see. Peter read it under his breath as if he would lose it forever otherwise. _Choked unconscious, really hungry, is Jason okay? _Peter let out a sigh that he had not known he was holding in. Rocket remembered the events of the previous day. Perhaps that mischievous fellow was more determined and strong that he had once thought.

"We'll see to getting you some food. Great to see you remember." Rocket smiled and nodded, and comfortably reclined in his bed. The doctor rushed away to some other task that he had to perform in the hospital, and Gamora and Drax hovered next to their seats. Peter uncomfortably sat in his chair next to the bedside, determining whether Rocket had just fallen asleep on him or not.

"Peter, you can rest, you've been up for almost two days," Gomora suggested wisely. Peter turned his head towards her and made eye contact with his other two friends. As far as he could tell, there was nothing going on between them. At all. Whatever it they were up to was business, not relationship.

"Fine," he eventually said. Peter got up out of his seat and stood shakily on his legs. Silently, he slid his chair back over to the side of the room where it would be out of the way. Gamora stepped out of the way of the door, her look sympathetic, and her actions unknown. The defined muscles in Peter's legs pushed him towards the door, with each step the burden of his voyage becoming more evident. Before the door, he made one final glance at Rocket. The raccoon was breathing slowly, and most likely had fallen asleep in his drug induced state. Gamora reached out and put her hand on Peter's shoulder. He looked down at the floor before continuing out into the hall. People bustled alongside him, in a hurry to get from point A to point B, worried about something or other that did not concern him.

In all of the mess he had been through while being awake, Peter realized that his social formalities were beginning to dissolve. They made no sense when applied to situations that required them. Handshakes, useless. Dining Etiquette, useless. Black Tie parties, useless, but quite fun. The same case could be made about Rocket and his friendship. They were close, perhaps too close, but it was strange in a sense. The way that being with someone from your own gender a bit too much made him come off as strange to some people, and it was stupid in a practical way.

Peter entered the waiting lobby area, filled with cushioned couches and furniture of all sorts. He simply chose one, walked over, and flopped down on it like it was his own bed. Before he fell into sleep, he couldn't shake the feeling that Rocket was in inevitable danger.

Peter's eyes popped open as he felt something brush up against his side. A green face greeted him, a feeling of dread somehow associated with the look. His throat was dry, his stomach growling, and was in no mood to be feeling emotions at the time. Gamora stood back slightly as he sat up on the sofa and looked out a window to see what time of day it was. The darkness signified that it was sometimes during the night or morning.

"Good Morning Peter." Peter looked back over at Gamora and ran his hand through his hair. It was in a disaster, but then again, it had been multiple days since he had last showered either. His clothes smelled of chemicals and smoke, his face unshaven, and the book nowhere to be seen.

"Man, I really need to take a shower." Gamora smiled at him in amusement.

"I noticed. Hopefully you can get on that today." Peter nodded and looked around to see if there was any food perhaps laying on an article of furniture.

"How are Peter and Rocket holding up?" Gamora shifted the weight on her legs as if she had something she wanted to say, but would not say it out loud.

"Both fine, Peter is supposed to be released today, Rocket was able to get some liquids down. I guess that's improvement over not speaking. Before we left they doped him up on some serious medication again." Peter smiled and just accepted the fact that there was no food fairy flying around to grant his stomach it's wishes. "Drax and I have more business to attend to. Radio me if something comes up."

"Will do." With that, Gamora left the room and Peter alone with the general populace of injured people and receptionists. He scrambled to find a timepiece of any sort, and was able to deduce it was about 6:00 AM local time. Only a few places would be serving breakfast, and none would be doing lunch at this impossibly early hour. Peter let out a long sigh and contemplated the hard place he had been put up to this early in the morning.

The lobby around him stood quietly busy. There were quite a few people around the large dimly lit room, most huddled near a receptionist or sitting down at chairs. No one else had taken the same route as to sleep on the couch. Outside, the first few rays of sunlight were beginning to illuminate the horizon, signaling the start of day.

Left with no options, Peter got up from the temporary bed and patted down the clothing he was wearing. His leather jacket was beginning to look decrepit and his hair a bit scraggled, but assumed it would work just fine for the day. His newly empowered but now sugar deprived legs took him from his chair and back into the medical ward, looking for the room that he had exited the previous day. Numbers floated all around the ceiling, but one in particular, 206-B, was calling out to him further down.

A multitude of friendly doctors walked by, preoccupied with everyday tasks of saving ordinary people and also seeing to their eventual demise. The hallway itself was not in pristine condition, yellowish lights flooded the corridor and slight damages to the walls were noticeable upon closer examination. Peter could not sense much of this himself, but it added to the atmosphere of the planet. Eventually room 206-B stood in front of him with it's door slightly ajar yet again.

With a sense of nervousness and hint of desperation, Peter walked into the room to find a half awake Rocket zoned out on his bed. His head was slightly tilted, with his breathing quite steady and strong. Peter frowned methodically as he determined it was from the drugs he was given. Well, he hoped it was from the drugs. Either way, Peter moved closer to Rocket and shook his side a little bit. Rocket blinked out of his state and turned to look at who was jabbing at him.

"Morning Rocket," Peter stated as he pulled up a chair next to the bed. Rocket cleared his throat and winced in pain. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first the message was so garbled that it was hard to detect that anything was being said. "It's okay, you don't have to speak." Rocket held up his hand in apparent opposition, and Peter abated his sympathy.

"I," Rocket started before clearing his throat again," I was scared." Peter nodded his head and adjusted his ears to the gravelly and hoarse voice that which Rocket had received. Their eyes met, Rocket glancing away first, as if he was hiding something from him. Peter pulled his chair closer to the bed to examine him up close and make sure he was all right. No one was going to be bothering them much for the rest of the day. Rocket shifted in his bed slightly, but made no resistance to the movement.

"This reminds me of a few days ago actually." Rocket gave him a killer look. "What, too soon?"

"Yes." Peter smiled and looked back. The room around them was mostly quiet, the two of

them sitting next to each other.

"I just realized how difficult this mission really is, I mean the amount of stuff that's happened. I think I've learned more about you in the past few days than any other point in my life." Rocket silently looked forward into space. Peter put his hand on Rocket's shoulder as a friendly sign of appeal. "And how stange is it that the world is based off of random chance. If I never would have been wanted, if I would have been more successful, we never would have met. And we would also be dead." Peter sigh and looked down at his jacket.

"And the fact that you exist, no offense, is amazing. Truly amazing," Peter ended with a smile. Rocket wasn't sure if it was an insult or a compliment, but he accepted it as the latter. He was mainly concerned about the completion of this mission and what would happen afterwards. As Peter had said, the mission was taking an absolute eternity that had put both of them in the hospital, and seemed way more risky than originally anticipated.

"Quill, can you get me a laptop?" Peter ruffled his brow in bewilderment.

"What do you need that for?" Peter replied hastily. Rocket tapped his fingers on the bed patiently.

"I need to write a program for the mission. Jason will be happy." Peter nodded with agreement. With the situation growing increasingly awkward, he stood up and prepared to leave.

"You'll be okay while I'm gone?" It was not often Peter got to ask that question seriously. Rocket nodded in response.

"Can you also get me something to eat? The food here is garbage," Rocket hoarsely said. He promptly took a drink of water.

"Sure thing. Be safe. Don't die." Rocket gave his best impression of a thumbs up as Peter left the room. He went down the halls, full of staff and people, with a mission to make himself more presentable and get the items that Rocket had requested.

Aboard the Milano, everything was as it had seemed the day prior. The ship was running on standby, softly humming as the generator kept the lights on and the food cold. There were no voices, no games, nothing to be heard. Utter silence. Peter took a few steps down the hall and noticed the amounts of junk that were laying around the ship. Parts and pieces of everything lie around, ignored or broken.

The first thing that Peter did was shower. He turned the faucet on, the warm water spraying down his body. It was entirely rejuvenating to shower for the first time in a few days. After the task was completed, he changed into some newer clothes, properly dressed in a new leather jacket and jeans. You could never look too stylish while paroozing the Galaxy. By the time the activities had passed, it was nearly 20 minutes into the future.

Peter's mind focused on food, food for Rocket and himself. He figured that Rocket probably adored sandwiches as much as he did, so he found bread that was not molding and hunted down some meat to make a few. The kitchen was so empty without his crewmates aboard. He set down his knife as he leaned against the counter to wonder what his life was like before he had met the other members.

He was just a lone bandit, picking up women along the way. But now he didn't need that. He was essentially a skilled bounty hunter who worked for the greater good of the Galaxy. And he had Gamora. Drax. And most importantly Rocket. He looked over at the sandwiches he had made and wondered why he mattered so much to him. With no one aboard but himself and the walls, he left the kitchen and moved down the hall towards Rocket's living quarters.

He walked through the door and into the dark murky room. He turned on the lights and looked around. It was just like any ordinary room, a sofa, a bed, and a closet. There was a few touches of his own, including a picture of Rocket himself on the wall. Peter admired the picture, and couldn't help but smile in amusement. A few racks lined the walls of the quarters, many of them had labels and titles with bins filled with parts. He paroozed a few of them, just finding circuits and metal. A few of them had scary looking devices, but knew they were either faulty or nonworking. Rocket kept his working weapons somewhere hidden aboard the ship. His best guess was the ventilation system.

Peter made his way to the closet, which he opened gently as if there was someone to hear the sound. It was only fair that Peter looked through Rocket's stuff, considering he knew that Rocket had previously stolen items from his own collection. The closet contained many normal things that would be found in any closet, shoes, jumpsuits, and the never-before-seen-to-be-worn regular everyday clothes. He recalled once teasing him to wear it, but Rocket had refused on the boundaries that it made him look unnatural. There was a mild amount of agreement in that case.

Upon examining the top shelf of files, Peter found a few boxes with different styles of titling that did not seem like something that he had devised himself. The first box, labeled CHS-007 contained a stack of papers and documents relating to weapons on the top. As he flipped through some of the papers though, it appeared that the top was actually just a ploy. The bottom documents were about the "Study of Cybernetic Modification to Lower Life Forms". Peter clenched his teeth slightly in pain as he knew Rocket did not like talking about such things. He looked through the documents and determined that it was probably just Rocket trying to figure out how he worked as a raccoon and as a modification.

But without a doubt, Peter saw Rocket more as a person than he ever did a raccoon or a freak of nature. He checked some of the other boxes, but most of them contained files and information about weapon engineering. One of them did have a few documents about Spinal Degeneration, but he simply ruled it as research into Cybernetic effects. Peter put all of the boxes back into their respective places and gently closed the closet door. He looked over at the impromptu desk that Rocket had assembled from boxes and a yoga mat, and saw his laptop motionlessly blinking at him.

He picked it up and worked his way back to the kitchen, making sure not to leave any traces of his stalker like attempts to find out more about Rocket. He put the sandwiches in a bag which he hid in his pocket, and carried that laptop under his arm. Peter took one last look around the ship, and excited to revisit the hospital. Outside, the day was nearing noon, with recovery efforts from the latest attack being handled well by repair services.

Travel restrictions had been lifted, and it was now only restricted to areas immediately around the Grand Hall and the Shipping Port. Peter looked across the platform at the shipping port, which was surrounded by government craft presumably cleaning up the disaster. He had heard on the radio that they were planning on reopening the shipping port by the end of the week. It seemed almost plausible as the port already had scaffolding and new metal plating already in place. Every second down was money lost to them.

He reached the entrance, and the doors opened for him. He looked rather unsuspicious, laptop under one arm, and a book in the other hand. No one noticed anything strange as he walked by, but he felt as if everyone had known that he was smuggling in food. The hallway was flooded with workers responding to daytime accidents dressed in white garvs and stethoscopes. He came to 206-B and walked in to find a yet again sleeping Rocket still sleeping. Either he got bored particularly easily, or the drugs that they had put him on were really knocking him out of the mood.

He walked over to his chair and let out a small oomph as he seated himself. He took the food out of his jacket and searched for a place around the room to put it. Behind him were floor level cabinets that he had never seen a nurse open, so he snuck them inside and twisted back around to face the bed. Peter's fingers drummed the handrails of the chair slightly, before he picked the book out of his coat jacket to read a few pages while he waited for Rocket to wake.

Peter ran his fingers over the smooth cover, the words reading _The Disparity of Us,_ with De'lumi Franci's name written under it. The book creaked slightly as he opened it, the smell meeting his nose like the wind on a warm summer day. The text, as old as it was, truly inspired Peter in a way that he had not previously known.

"A person in my frail old age of aspiring 64 do not exactly meet the social standards that the younger impose upon us. Perhaps it is the common idea that the old cannot grasp the ideals of the new, or maybe they simply are just inept young lads. My own children have taken it upon themselves to punish their children for such liberal and free thinking ideas. I once heard my son address me that my grandson was on the path to, drug dealing and tomfoolery, due to the fact he stayed over at a friends house past due.

I did not say anything, of course I didn't, because by my own children's standards I do not meet the requirements of a 12 year old kid. The creative mind blossoms under the right conditions, and at times it seems the world is growing into a dark jail cell that we cannot escape from. Books are my main pursuit of happiness. They free me from my cell, hammering away at the walls until light spills in from outside.

But just because people are different in certain mindsets does not mean that you can not cooperate on a practical level, even if it requires you to blatantly lie through your teeth to keep the peace. Some may think to take that as lie when it makes more people happy. But that is simply not true. The German Holocaust for example, was something that would have been much happier had not been announced to the world. But it needed to happen.

The types of lies I speak about are those that keep a social tranquility. If I learned today that I was going to die, I would not call up each of my relatives and tell them I have cancer. It would be irresponsible of me. Sure, honesty is the right thing to do, and they should prepare for my death as I prepared for their graduations. Unlike a graduation however, my death would cause great distress throughout my children. They would come up from all of their homes in the States to see me and spend time with me. It would be horrifying. Excruciating. I would be seen as an entirely different personality. It might even go so far as to make me classified as a responsibility rather than a person.

And so these young people, who have their progressive social movements and their lack of attachment to the past, suddenly become so afraid of losing the past that they won't stop messing with it. Reality suddenly beco-"

Peter looked up from the book as Rocket sat up in his bed in slight confusion. He set the book on his leg and reached out to notify him of his presence.

"How are you holding up?" Rocket looked at him with fulsome carefulness.

"Better," Rocket spoke sounding more like himself. Peter picked up the laptop off the counter and shook it in the air slightly. Rocket's face formed a grin and he reached out his arms for it. Peter handed it over and Rocket instantly got to booting it up and getting into the hosptials internet connection.

"I also took the liberty of sneaking in some food." Rocket kept at his computer but then stopped and looked back to Peter. His paws lie on the keyboard, motionless in thought.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it Quill," Rocket admitted fastidiously. He watched as Peter reached over to a cabinet and pulled out one of the hidden sandwiches. Rocket checked the door to make sure it was closed and there was no one there, before taking the sandwich and delightfully ripping it to shreds.

"It was my pleasure." Rocket stopped for a moment while looking at his sandwich, before biting into it with the viciousness and balefulness that only a raccoon could display. Peter took a look back into his book while Rocket finished the food. Peter continuously handed him more of the food until none was left, and they were both there working on entirely opposite tasks.

That evening, Peter had accidentally fallen asleep on the chair next to Rocket in a daze of his loyalty to finishing the book. Rocket had just taken it as a sign that Peter cared too much to leave his side, and continued to work on the program he was making into the nighttime hours. Gamora and Drax were no where to be found as usual, and Peter was in the same hospital being treated for lesser wounds.

Rocket eventually stowed the laptop at a decent time in the late night to early morning hours of the next day. He rested his head on the pillow and looked over at Peter, whose head was dangling off the back of the chair as if he had lost control of bodily functions. Rocket closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, entering the same land that Peter was already in.

They both awoke the next day to a few knocks on the door. Dr. Nie came into the room with a few forms and smile. He was properly armed in the method of distributing jolly news.

"Good morning you two, looks like a hell of a night happened." Rocket couldn't resist a humorous glance as he saw Peter fumble with the book he had dropped on the floor at some point during the night. "Anyway, the good news is that you are going to live and you will be out of here quite soon. All of your vitals looked fine from yesterday, perhaps your blood sugar was a bit elevated, but that could be from any number of reasons."

Rocket did not crack an astray glance at the off chance he could be caught. Peter ran his hand through his hair and shifted his coat around to fit better around his arms. The doctor handed him a paper and pen.

"This is the release form saying that you understand that your friend had no issues while he was here and is being released under proper medical practice." Peter just nodded along and signed his name on any of the opposing blanks. They were almost something to be destroyed, like a game of sorts. The more you signed, the closer you were to winning. A stamper might have made the game easier.

After a few moments of collecting valuables around the room and getting into contact with Gamora, they were mostly ready to leave. Rocket was finally able to change back into his distinctive clothing before being given a crutch to assist his walking from some of the minor physical injuries that he had been subject to prior. He had a sprained ankle which the doctors had mostly glossed over that was bothering him a slight bit. Peter walked next to Rocket as they navigated down the halls of the now familiar hospital building and towards the exit. The same receptionists that was attending them when they had first come in was working at the desk again, just as scary and official as the first time.

They walked all the way out and about until they got to the Milano, the familiar home they had known to love over the duration of their stay as bounty hunters. Rocket took a seat in the common area on one of the chairs that lined the walls of the room.

"Thanks. I should be fine from here." Peter nodded. He was just about to turn away to go back into the hospital when he noticed Rocket shift his back and rub it slightly. He would have asked if he was alright, but realized it was probably something that he wasn't supposed to know about.

The walk back to the hospital was brief at a brisk pace, the cool air stimulating his senses and making life stand out more than usual. The shipping port, which had been burning in disaster two days prior, was now in decent condition. Construction vehicles of all kinds buzzed around the building like flies, repairing as best they could to get the port reopened.

Once inside, Peter walked in knowing that this would likely be the last time he ever set foot in this place. Fotron, as much as it was feeling like home, was only a place where they had been sent to complete a contract. After they were done, he would make sure to see to it that they never returned to this damned place. It was filled with bad luck and unfortunate things that did not happen near the Nova Corps.

Peter gathered the collection of medical files he was collecting from the doctors into a single pile, and put some of the other things he had taken along and set them next to it. He found some stray clothing, some food, and other minor things that were laying around. Just as he was about to leave, Doctor Nie came through the door in a rush.

"Wow, you were in a hurry to leave. Guess it was a good thing I got here just in the nick of time." The doctor made his way closer to Peter, some documents in hand.

"I was just about to leave," Peter responded friendly. The doctor reached out with the documents, and Peter's arm graciously accepted it.

"I would just like to give you the best of luck on whatever happens. Goodbye Mr. Quill." With that, the doctor scurried out of the room in a rush that he had not seen before. Something about the inflection and tone of his voice unsettled him. He decided to look at the first few pages of what he was given, and he was no where near prepared for what he read.

Peter's heart nearly stopped in its place as words formed sentences which turned into reality. Time slowed as he read, his fingers grasping at the pages with more strength and intensity as each moment bore on. There were a few diagrams and scans that his eyes closely scanned, but the images and words came to a blur as tears filled his eyes. Peter's hands became cold and weak as he dropped the packet on the floor. His knees buckled next, and he collapsed to his knees as tears fell out of his eyes involuntarily and fell on the paper.

It's ink was wet from the saline drops, but the truth that it gave could never be forgotten by those who read it. Peter tried in every way he could to deny the facts. He fought himself. He crossed his arms. He tried to deny even the evidence that was real. But in all reality, Peter knew what he had to due to preserve the peace. Lie.

* * *

**WOAH. Yeah, you probably really want to know what happens next. I do too. This chapter took a good amount of time to write as I had to delete a portion of it because I did not like it. Originally Peter had gotten the document with Rocket beside him, but it didn't really fit too well and felt rushed. So I changed it so Dr. Nie would be the bearer of my cliffhanger, which worked out much better. As always, please, PLEASE, _PLEASE_ leave me a review about the story. Tell me what I could improve upon, what you think of the story so far, and where you think the story is headed. The best way to motivate me to write faster is to leave reviews. It reminds me that I really need to get another chapter out, and it also relieves me of the desire to listen to Gustav Holst's _The Planets_. Enjoy the rest of your day!**


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